


Walking in a Wincest Wonderland: A Christmas Wincest Story Collection edited by Justine Delarge

by JustineDelarge



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:06:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustineDelarge/pseuds/JustineDelarge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I ran a fiction-writing contest on Tumblr, asking people to write Christmas-themed Wincest. Many people submitted. I gave each of them a light edit, but did not do deep editorial revisions or ask for rewrites. These are their stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Christmas by deansmagicfingers (aka altogetherundone)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: First Christmas
> 
> Author: deansmagicfingers (aka: altogetherundone)
> 
> Words: 4,398
> 
> Summary: It’s the Christmas of 1999. Sam is 16 and Dean is 20. John is off on a hunt and Dean and Sam are spending Christmas alone. Again. But this Christmas is different. Their relationship has taken a different turn over the summer. Now Dean is trying to sort through his feelings about it. What do you get for the person who’s gone from just your snot-nosed kid brother, to the object of your hottest fantasies, and now your…boyfriend? His wild streak is yelling for him to run for the hills, but his heart feels like it’s finally found a home.

He had almost got himself fooled into believing that this was just another Christmas.  Another Christmas spent in a no-tell motel with cheap decorations from the dollar store tacked to the walls.  Hell, Dad wasn’t even there.  He was out on a hunt.  Which was also par for the course in the pathetic history of Winchester family Christmases.  Nothing special about it. 

Except that over the summer, everything had changed and become better than Dean had ever dared hope for.  Sam had turned sixteen and almost overnight he’d grown into this impossibly beautiful person, who for some reason seemed happiest when he was stuck to Dean’s side like glue. 

Long hot summer days had run into long hot summer nights.  Young hard bodies curling into one another for comfort while the ceiling fan circled lazily over their bed.  Salty sweat-damp skin sliding against skin in the darkness. An affectionate and utterly chaste kiss that had suddenly turned needy.  Soft touches and muffled moans that felt so dangerously good. 

They didn’t speak of it at first.  Both of them too nervous to break the spell and upset this thing that was growing between them.  But once that line had been crossed, and the next morning the world didn’t come to an end, it was like neither of them could get enough.  They had clung to it and to each other every day since. 

So maybe this Christmas was a little different.  They were still brothers. Nothing changing that.  Not ever.  But now there was this other thing too. Something that seemed too big and too earth-shatteringly important to fit in any one neat little box in Dean’s head. 

And of course, his greatest talent in life seemed to be fucking up relationships.  So if he was maybe a little more nervous about this particular Christmas gift to Sam, well who could really blame him right?  How often does a guy get stuck trying to figure out the perfect gift for his brother  _and_ his…boyfriend, Jesus-H-Christ-when-did- _that_ -word-enter-his-head, with the added complication of them actually being same person?

With a bucket of chicken under his arm and snowflakes clinging to his black watch cap, Dean opened the door to their room and was immediately hit with a wall of warm air.  The sudden contrast to the biting cold outside made his cheeks flush, but it was the unfiltered adoration behind Sam’s mile-wide grin that made his skin tingle.

“Soup’s on!” he announced, handing Sam the bucket.  They had enough money this week that Dean didn’t need to pretend that he wasn’t hungry at the drive-thru window.

“Extra-crispy?”  Sam was already digging deep, searching out a drumstick.

Dean shot him a look as he shucked off his jacket and boots.  “Dude.  What do you take me for?  Obviously.”

Sam smiled his approval and licked grease from his fingertips.   _It’s A Wonderful Life_ was playing on TV for the millionth or so time, but watching anything else on Christmas seemed akin to sacrilege.    

Making sure that his brother was sufficiently distracted by fried chicken and Jimmy Stewart, Dean tucked his cap inside his jacket pocket and pulled out Sammy’s present.  The red paper bow on top was slightly squished but it would have to do.

“Merry Christmas.”  Dean practically shoved the newspaper-wrapped bundle into Sam’s hands.  He sat down on the floor next to Sam and leaned back against a bed with his elbow resting on one raised knee to watch his brother open his gift.  The very image of cool nonchalance.  Nevermind that every impulse in his body was telling him to run and hide. 

Blissful unaware of Dean’s internal freak-out, Sam grinned down at the hastily wrapped package like it held some great treasure.  A warm glow from the colored lights on their little Christmas tree played over his dimples. 

Stealing a fake tree from the department store window had been much harder than Dean had anticipated, but the security guard looked like he’d needed the exercise anyway.

Sam tore the paper away eagerly.  Inside was a black leather cuff.  A wider, thicker version of the ones Dean sometimes wore.  Carved into the leather was a neat row of nearly every protection symbol that their dad had ever taught them, and a few others that had been unearthed from Bobby’s library.  On the inside was the inscription “SWD.”  Their initials intertwined in a careful script like links on a chain.  Looking almost like they might represent one entity instead of two. 

Sam stared at it for a long moment.  Long enough for Dean to start to worry.  Finally he sniffled a bit and cleared his throat.  “It’s perfect.  Thanks Dean.”  Sam’s voice sounded thick like he was dangerously close to tears.

Dean mumbled something that might have resembled “You’re welcome.”  His own voice seemed to be suffering from whatever Sam’s was too.

Sam traced a fingertip over their initials before snapping the cuff closed around his wrist.  “I want to give you something too.” A secret little smile tugged up the corner of his mouth.  Without further ceremony, he stood up and quickly stripped off his clothes, eyes fixed on Dean who just stared back at him, paralyzed with shock.  When Sam was completely naked, he sat down to straddle Dean’s lap and starting kissing him deep and slow. 

By the time Sam pulled back to catch his breath, Dean felt absolutely punch-drunk with lust.  His gorgeous, beautiful, perfect Sammy was naked on top of him, cock rigid and red between his long tanned thighs.  While he on the other hand, was still fully clothed, dick straining against the confines of his jeans.  The contrast was insanely hot. 

They so rarely had the time or the privacy for anything but quick blowjobs in gas station bathrooms, or urgent hands thrust into the front of each other’s pants before Dad came back with takeout.  But now it was just them.  Dean could take his time.  Run his hands all over Sam’s body, tracing the hills and valleys of lean muscle as they warmed under this palms.  The exhilaration of that prospect made him grin as he wrapped his fingers around his brother’s cock.

He only got a few strokes in before Sam was stilling his hand.  “Wait.  Not like that.  I want tonight to be different.”

Undaunted, Dean pulled his head down to continue his assault on Sam’s mouth.  “It will be.  Dad won’t be home until morning,” he continued, punctuating each assurance with a kiss.  “We have all night this time.  I can do this as many times as you can stand it.  Then you can return the favor.” His bottle-green eyes gleamed mischievously as he started moving his hand again.

“No,” Sam said, pushing him away.  He looked amazingly serious for someone who was naked.  “You don’t get it.  Tonight is going to be different because I want it to be my first time.  With you.   _That’s_  my gift to you.”

Dean felt whatever blood was left in his head rush into his lap at the same time that his stomach started to do some big panicky flips.  It was a confusing combination.  His lips tried ineffectually to form words for a few moments before he managed a shaky “W-What?”  Maybe not his best moment.

“You heard me,” Sam insisted.  Like Dean was purposely being thick.  “I want you to be my first.  Pop my cherry.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that Dean was jolted out of his stupor. “No!  No way.  You don’t mean that.  You’re too young!  And who the hell taught you to talk like that anyway?”

Sam gaped at him like he couldn’t believe one person could be that big a moron.  “Are you kidding me?  Dean, I live with  _you_.  I’ve heard every possible dirty word and euphemism for sex there is.  Some of which I’m pretty sure you made up!  You’re the one who gave me the Talk when Dad was too embarrassed to get through it.  And I’m not too young!  You lost it when you were  _barely_  fifteen to that waitress in Tulsa.”

“Yeah well that doesn’t mean that I’m going to let you repeat my mistakes! You’re better than that, Sam!”  Dean didn’t think he could be more disgusted with himself.  He let this happen.  Let Sam think that he needed to do this.

Sam grabbed Dean’s hands and fitted them over the swell of his ass.  Held them there firmly when Dean tried to jerk them back.  “This isn’t a mistake, Dean.  I want this.  I know you do too.”

Sam circled his hips in a torturously slow grind in his brother’s lap.  Teasing him. 

Dean wanted to let his head fall back and take what Sam was offering him, but the breathy little sounds falling from his brother’s lips reminded him that however grown-up and wise Sam was for his age, in this one area he was still an innocent.  Too precious to be sullied by the likes of him.

“Goddamn it Sam.  Cut it out!”  Dean bucked up, struggling out of his brother’s grasp and knocking him off his lap.  He scrambled away a few feet until he felt like he could breathe normally again.

Hurt flickered over Sam’s face but within a second it was replaced by a furious scowl.  “Don’t you dare quit on me now!  We’ve been over this, Dean.  I don’t care what anyone else thinks.   _Nothing_  about this is wrong. You didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t want.  That I didn’t ask – shit – _beg_  you to do.”

“That’s not it.  I mean, it is kind of but-” Dean dragged a hand over his face. This was it.  He should have listened to his gut and stopped this a long time ago.  He wasn’t the commitment type and there was simply no half-assing this.  Sammy deserved someone much smarter, classier, and a helluva lot more  _normal._ “Look, this is just too intense for me right now, ok?”  

“Too intense?!”  Sam’s voice pitched higher in what Dean recognized as a level of pissed-off usually reserved for their father.  He grabbed for his boxers and held them over his crotch in a half-hearted effort to cover himself.  “I just offered you – pretty much the only thing I have that’s mine to give. And you think you can brush me off without an explanation like I was just another slut throwing herself at your feet?  Fuck you!  You’re not getting off that easy.  Start talking, right now!”

“What do you want me to say, huh?” Dean said softly.  The fight just wasn’t in him to match Sam shout for shout.  Not when it felt like he was about to fracture into pieces.  “It’s not exactly like I know what the hell I’m doing here.  I don’t do this kinda thing.  I don’t know how.  One-night stands I can do.  But I don’t stick around after.  No point in even trying with the way we live, you know?  Not until me and you…this…”

“Relationship?”

“Yeah, that.  And it’s been great, Sam.  Seriously great.  But doing this? Taking this step?  It makes it really real.  Official.  When this is over…” God, just the idea of it sliced into him like a knife.  “When it’s over…well, it will be a hundred times worse if we add me being your first into the mix too.  You can’t unring that bell.”

Sam looked like he was going to start shouting again, but then he just furrowed his brow in confusion.  “You have no idea, do you?  How could you not get it by now?”

“What?” 

“You have no idea that you’re it for me.  Doesn’t matter what you say or do. It’s not even a matter of choice.  It just is.  Like breathing.  Like gravity.”

Dean struggled to process all of that but the words weren’t matching up to anything he could understand from past experience.  Sam was young. Confused.  It was just a phase.  A crush.  He would wise up sooner or later and find someone he could be proud to be with.  And maybe Dean would die a little inside, but Sammy wouldn’t ever need to know that part.

Sam took advantage of the moment to climb back into his brother’s lap.  He cupped Dean’s face in his hands, pleading with his eyes.  “I know you.  I see you.  I can see you’re freaked out.  But I’m not.  ‘Cause I have faith in you, Dean.  You should too.”

“Sam.”

“You’d never hurt me.  Not on purpose anyway.  You’d never violate your all-important prime directive - Take Care of Sammy.”

“Fuck you.”

“All I’m saying is, that this is just a variation on the same theme.  No one’s better at taking care of me than you.  I trust you.  Want you to take care of me like this too.”

Sam started grinding down with his hips again, driving Dean’s focus back into the immediate desires of his body.  He mouthed underneath Dean’s ear. Warm wet breath making him shiver.  “Dean, please,” he whispered, raising goosebumps where his breath ghosted over sensitive skin.  “I want it to be you.  Nobody but you.”

“Sam, stop it.  Just stop.  You don’t know what you’re saying.  This is _important_.  You don’t just throw it away on someone like – “

“Someone like what, Dean?”  Sam stopped moving, but he was clearly not ready to listen to reason.  Dean could tell by the stubborn furrow between his eyebrows.  “Someone like you?  Someone I love?  ‘Cause I do, you know.  I love you.”

“I know that, Sammy.”  Of course he did.  It was a basic fact of their lives. But spoken out loud like that, it made him feel stupidly bashful and awkward.  His ears burned pink and he suddenly became fascinated with the weave of the ratty motel carpet.

“No.  You’re not listening to me.  Look at me, Dean.  I  _love_  you.  I’m yours and you’re mine.  My first.  Last.  Always.  Only yours.” 

The world went hazy and someone let out a choked-off sob.  It might have been him. 

His brain scrambled to process what his body was doing by primal instinct alone.  Lips crushing together almost painfully.  Tongue sliding sinuously against tongue.  Teeth dragging over soft skin.  Fingers clutching hard enough to bruise.  Hips thrusting to chase whatever friction they could find. So intense and so much all at once that Dean felt like it was going to swallow them both whole.  He was scared to death of what was going to happen next. 

He pulled back and shifted away, pushing Sam off of his lap for the second time. 

Sam’s eyes flew open in shock.  “Dean!  You can’t just –“

“Sam.”  Dean’s tone was deceptively calm despite the jackrabbit pace of this pulse.  “I’m not going to let your first time be some quick fuck on the floor.” 

He rose and tugged his t-shirt off as he sat down on the bed.  “C’mere,” he said, holding his hand out in invitation.

Sam swallowed nervously.  His eyes wide like a scared puppy.  After a moment’s hesitation, he unfolded himself from the floor and stood in front of Dean, linking their fingers together.

Dean leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on each hard knob of hipbone. He nuzzled his way down to the base of his brother’s cock, inhaling the musky scent there that was uniquely  _Sam_ , before licking a long stripe up the underside and flicking his tongue over the slit. 

Sam gasped and dug his nails into Dean’s shoulder as his brother’s sinfully plush lips closed around him. 

Dean worked his tongue all over the sensitive skin, sucking him down deep to bump against the back of his throat. 

Sam moaned and trembled under his hands. 

He knew when Sam was getting close by the way his flesh twitched and jumped in his mouth.  A few feather-soft caresses along the seam between his balls and Sam was crying out, pulling at the hair on back of Dean’s head. “Fuck!  Stop.  Stop or else I’m gonna come too soon.”

Dean released him and stared up the length of Sam’s body, pupils blown out dark and glinting wickedly.  “It’s ok, baby.  We’re just getting started.  Trust me.  Just let go.”

As soon as Dean pushed the head of Sam’s cock through the press of his lips again, Sam was coming in hot spurts on his tongue. 

Dean swallowed greedily, coaxing him through the aftershocks.  He could feel the vibration of each desperate little moan racking its way out of Sam’s body.  And when it was over, he licked him clean.

Sam slid boneless down to the bed, collapsing next to Dean on his stomach. His skin flushed and breathing erratic.  “Christ Dean.  So fucking good.”

Dean manhandled him farther up the bed so that he could settle down in the V between his brother’s legs.  “Like I said, we’re only getting started.”  He ran his hands up the backs of Sam’s thighs, pushing them open wider.  “I’m gonna make sure you’re ready to take me, ok?  Don’t wanna hurt you any.” He palmed Sam’s ass, holding his cheeks open.  “It’ll feel good, Sammy.  I promise.”

At the first long swipe of tongue flat against his hole, Sam jerked up like he’d been electrocuted.  “Dean!  What the hell are you doing?”

“Shhh.  It’s ok, baby.  Just relax.  I know it’s weird at first, but trust me it’ll feel amazing once I get going.”

When Sam didn’t provide any more protests, Dean settled down and went to work.  Tracing slow circles around the furl of muscle.  Lapping and sucking at the rim until he could feel Sam finally start to relax.  Pretty soon he was able to slip the tip of his tongue into Sam, fucking into him with shallow little jabs. 

Sam moaned and shifted to spread his legs wider, opening up for more. 

Dean nearly went wild, thrusting his tongue as deep as he could get it. “Fuck, Sammy.  Told you you’d like it.  Taste so goddamn sweet.  I could do this all night.  Make you come again just like this.” 

Sam only moaned louder and rocked his hips backward to meet Dean’s tongue.

When he felt like Sam was ready, Dean pulled away to retrieve the lube and a condom from his duffel.  Sam folded his arms underneath his chin and watched him strip out of his jeans, eyes raking down to Dean’s cock.  He was thick with blood and impossibly hard from ignoring his own pleasure for so long.

“God.  Dean.  You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Dean felt the blush creep all the way down to this chest.  “Shut up, Sam.  In case you haven’t already figured it out, I’m an easy lay.  No need to be buttering me up.” He knelt on the bed behind Sam and starting slicking up his fingers.

“I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.  Not everyone is trying to work an angle on you.  You’re gorgeous, Dean.  Really you-Oh holy fuck!” 

Apparently all Dean had to do to end one of Sam’s embarrassing Lifetime moments was to slide a finger up his ass.  Good to know.

“You fucking jerk!”

Dean couldn’t help himself from bursting out a chuckle.  “Hey, now.  Relax, Sammy.  Just relax and let me take care of you, ok?” 

By the time Dean had worked in a second finger, Sam had clearly forgotten to be mad at him.  He was fucking back on his brother’s fingers, wriggling his hips and begging for more.  Dean didn’t think he could get any more aroused but that almost did him in.  The sight of his Sammy taking it so good.  So eager for him.   

“Dean, please.  Want you so bad.”

“Not yet.  Almost, but not yet.  I don’t want to hurt you more than I have to.  And you’re so goddamn tight, Sam.  Feel so good on my fingers.  Can’t wait to get inside you.”

He thought he was going to die if he didn’t get to fuck Sam soon.  But he pushed down his frantic need and lubed up another finger.  Sam hissed a little as he slipped it in, and that helped him regain control more than anything. 

“I’m sorry, baby.  I know it burns.”  Dean dripped more lube onto his fingers and tried to work them in a little more gently.

“It’s ok.  I’m not a girl, Dean.  I can take it.”

Sam’s indignant tone almost had Dean chuckling at him again, but he stifled it rather than ruin the mood.  Instead, he twisted his fingers around to find that sweet spot that would distract Sam from the pain. 

Sam cried out when Dean nudged his prostate.  “Holyfuckingshit do that again!”

Dean bit his lip to keep down what he suspected was going to be a distinctly unmanly whimper.  “I’m dying here, Sammy.”

“Yeah, ok.  Ok.  I’m ready.  I want it.”

“Turn over.”  Dean never put a condom on so fast in his life.

He lubed himself up as Sam sprawled on his back, legs spread wide open.  It was possibly the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“Just breathe.”  Dean inched forward on the bed, lining himself up.  He pressed in gently, watching Sam’s face for any sign of pain.  When he felt Sam’s body swallow up the head, Dean’s whole body started to tremble.  Like he was the goddamn virgin. 

Sam grabbed at the headboard as if it was the only thing preventing him from flying off into space.  His eyes were wild and unfocused.  Making urgent little noises as his dick started to harden again.

Dean grit his teeth and pushed forward, letting Sam adjust as best he could along the way.  When he bottomed out, he gathered Sam up close underneath him and kissed him slow and sweet.  Slotted together like that, two halves made whole again, Dean felt that angry restless animal inside of him finally go quiet.

Sam brought him back down to earth again, rolling his hips up experimentally.  “C’mon, D.  Wanna feel you.”

It was only a whisper of encouragement, but Dean snapped into action like a man on a mission.  He knew he wasn’t going to last long.  He was good, sure.  Fucking great when he put his mind to it.  But he was only human. No one could withstand the kind of exquisite world-altering pleasure that he was feeling, buried balls deep in that tight silky heat.  Not with Sam, his gorgeous gorgeous Sammy, running long fingers over the landscape of his back and seemingly on a mission to kiss every freckle he could reach.

Dean groaned when Sam captured his right nipple with his teeth.  “Oh God. S-so good.  So good, baby.”  He stroked long and deep so that Sam could feel every inch of him, drawing out as much of that incredible sensation as he could.

Sammy whined and writhed helplessly underneath him.  He lifted his legs and hooked his ankles together around Dean’s middle in an effort to urge him on faster.

Dean gave in to Sam’s wordless pleas when he felt his orgasm coiling tight inside him, poised to snap him in half.  With his own heartbeat drumming in his ears, he began to pump hard and fast. 

“Sammy.  Mine.  My Sammy.  Only mine.”  He hooked his arms up under Sam’s shoulders, holding him in place as he fucked into him. 

When one hard thrust connected with Sam’s prostate, he screamed out Dean’s name and came, shooting warm ropes of come across their bellies.

Feeling his brother clench around him and come without even a hand on his cock, Dean shuddered in ecstasy.  He pounded into Sam’s prostate, lost in mindless passion.  He could feel every quiver of muscle, every tremor of the orgasm punch its way through his brother’s body.  Felt Sam sink his teeth into his shoulder.  Felt him clench tighter inside when the last wave of pleasure crested and washed over him. 

Then Dean was free-falling over the edge.  Orgasm searing through his body like wildfire.  Cock pulsing.  Come flooding out of him.  Every nerve ending rocketed with electric heat.  And when the blackness finally took him, he went smiling.

Dean came to with Sam still pinned underneath him.  Fingers grazing his skin lazily up and down his sides.  Soothing little nonsense murmurs and soft kisses pressed to his temple.  The first coherent thought that Dean was able to string together was that he should really be the one comforting Sam and not the other way around. 

“You ok?”

Sam hummed some kind of blissed-out happy little sound.  Dean wanted something a little more concrete than that.

“Sam?  You’re ok, right?  Seriously, you’d tell me wouldn’t you?  I mean, it was good right?  I didn’t hurt you or – “

“Dean.  M’m fine.  Better than fine.  I’m fucking  _amazing_  right now.  You were amazing.  Perfect.  Or you would be if you’d shut up and stop killing my buzz here.”

Dean let out a short laugh and moved to extract himself from his brother’s arms.  Sam only clung tighter.  Like a giant sleepy octopus.

“Come on, Sasquatch.  You got to let me get up before we’re cemented together like this.”

Sam nodded and let his body go limp.

Dean pulled out gingerly and dropped a kiss to Sam’s stomach when made a noise of protest at the loss.  “Be right back.”  

After the condom was discarded and he’d cleaned them both up with a warm washcloth, Dean maneuvered Sam until he got him under the covers.  Sam immediately went into octopus-mode again, fitting himself snugly against his brother’s chest. 

Dean rested his chin on Sam’s head and breathed in the clean scent of his hair.  He wanted to memorize it.  Wanted to commit everything about the night to memory forever.  The lights from their tree casting a halo of colors on the wall.  Black and white images of wholesome human goodness flickering over their TV screen.  The feeling that came with the knowledge that he was safe and warm, wrapped up in the arms of the one person in the world who really got him.  Who he could trust with his life.  Who loved him in every possible way. 

“Love you, Sammy.”

Sam inhaled sharply.  He gripped Dean tighter and was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, Dean could feel wetness where Sam had his cheek pressed against his heart.

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”


	2. Christmastide, Post-Apocalypse by spinthetireslightthefires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author: spinthetireslightthefires
> 
> Genre: Fluff/Crack/What the Hell is This Genre?
> 
> Pairing: Wincest with platonic Dean&Cas and references to Dean/Lisa
> 
> Word Count: 1600
> 
> Summary: In a world where Sam clawed his way out of the pit just in time to find Castiel drinking down Purgatory, things are different. The ending was torn up, and it’s time to rewrite the book.

It’s been a few months now with Cas installed as God 2.0 and Sam half-unwillingly present on the throne of Hell, and Christmas has come up.

They don’t usually celebrate, but Sam’s spent the last two earth years (6712 Cage time and 240 in regular Hell time) clawing his way out of the Cage only to find that Cas was fighting a civil war in Heaven and hadn’t gone to Dean for help, and that Dean had made a life for himself like Sam had asked him to.

It had taken every ounce of restraint he had in those early days, every reminder that  _Murder is wrong_  that he didn’t try and kill Cas, and worse (he was ashamed, so ashamed) Lisa or Ben.

Dean wasn’t  _his_  anymore, though, and it still felt like that was unacceptable.

He and Cas tried to keep Dean out of it, tried to hide from him entirely, but things began to fall apart when Eve’s monsters came to the Braeden house and tried to kill the three of them.  Cas left his forces in the middle of a battle and went avenging angel on those things’ asses.  Sam had seen.

Sam could see a lot, now.  Perk of having been so completely fucked up by Hell and getting out.

But anyway, that’s not the point.

The point is, it’s Christmas, and Dean can’t even go spend it with Lisa and Ben, because Lisa is terrified and Dean would rather sacrifice his own happiness than see someone else even a little uncomfortable.

It’s time for the reveal, he supposes.

He’s been watching, but hasn’t really done anything yet.  He had been too late to stop Cas from opening Purgatory, but he had been there, in that warehouse. 

Clawing his way topside had given him some new skills – and demons weren’t so far from souls, anyway – so he’d forced the door shut before everything that walked in Purgatory wound up in Cas.  Cas had been strong enough to end the war, strong enough to be Big Angel on Campus, and so what if it made him a little big-headed? 

It was easier on Dean to know that there was something good out there.

Sam’s not going to delude himself into thinking he’s good, because he isn’t.  He runs Hell, now, and he enjoys it.  He and Cas have an arrangement.  More souls go to Heaven than before.  Less deals are made.  It hardly affects Sam, hardly affects the teeming horde of the damned that writhe all around, because Hell’s been busy since it opened for business the night Azazel died.

Maybe cracking open doors that shouldn’t open was the problem.

Still, things were good.  Dean had been happy with Lisa, and with the war over in Heaven, Cas could spend time with him to ease the pain.

Speak of the divinity, so he shall appear.

“You should go to him, Sam.”  Cas sounds old, and sad, and very tired.  “He needs you.”

Sam shrugs.  “He has you.”

“And I’m forever grateful for that.  But he still needs you more than you could ever understand.  You’re powerful, but I can see inside his soul so easily now…he needs you.”  Cas shrugs.  “Besides, it’s my understanding that Christmas should be spent with those we love.”

Love.  That was the problem.

What had gotten them into all of this in the first place.  Lucifer had loved his Father too much, and Sam and Dean loved each other too much, and Cas – there was no denying how much Cas loved Dean.

And it had been the catalyst for the Apocalypse, and the war, and all these new duties that Castiel never let himself admit were wearing on him.

“I have been silent until now,” Cas says softly, sounding almost miserable.  “But I can no longer do so.”

“What’s he going to say when he sees me again?  Cas, I’m not the same person I was when I jumped in the hole.  There are things I can do now that he would hate.  He hated the demon blood, hated the psychic powers…he was terrified.”  Sam slumps.  “I can’t exactly appear in a blaze of glory and boom ‘Be not afraid!’”

“You’re still his brother.  He misses you more with each passing day.  And I miss it, too – I miss the two of you.  He was never so happy as he was when you and he were good together.”  Castiel closes his eyes.  “If not for him, Sam, do it for me.”

Sam thinks about saying no.  But he wants so badly to go back, to see Dean again and be able to touch him, to look him in the eye and ask him what was going on…He wants Dean back.

“And he wants you,” Cas murmurs.

“Stop reading my mind, Cas,” Sam says, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“You think too loud.”

“Can’t help it.”

“I know.”

—

Dean’s at Bobby’s, and there’s a sad little Charlie Brown kind of Christmas tree on the kitchen table.  Cas wings in an hour before Sam’s decided he’s going to show, and Sam watches as Dean gives him this hung-the-moon smile, and he has to squash that jealousy down.  Cas knows, and Cas would never take advantage of this whole mess.  Sam knows this.  Sam knows.

“We’re missing something,” Cas murmurs as he looks at the meager collection of gifts at the foot of the tree.

“You never know what to get the guy who has everything,” Dean jokes, but there’s a little tension around his eyes.

Cas glances up and meets Sam’s eyes.

It’s time.

Sam goes outside, makes himself visible, and knocks on the door.

The next ten minutes are a mad scramble of tests and disbelief, and all Sam can think is that every painful test is like how he remembers Heaven – because Dean is there, in front of him, breathing the same air and fully aware of it.

When it’s done, when it’s settled that Sam is still  _Sam_ , that he fought his way out of Hell and got made its new king, Dean makes a weak joke about having friends in high  _and_  low places.  “Talk about turning into a Garth Brooks song,” he mutters before pulling Sam into a hug.

Sam can’t stop smiling.  He looks at Cas and Bobby over Dean’s shoulder, and Cas looks like this is the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen.  Bobby’s still half in shock about the whole thing, but Sam knows that it’s all going to be fine by the look in his eye, too.

“Damn it, Sammy.”  Dean’s voice is rough, and he’s got his face buried in the crook of Sam’s neck and shoulder.  “ _Sam._ ”

Cas smiles, then, outright, and turns, saying something softly to Bobby.  The two of them retreat into the kitchen, leaving Sam and Dean in the hall by the door.  Sam  presses Dean a little closer because he can, and Dean clutches at him like a drowning man.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles, turning his head to nuzzle the side of Dean’s jaw.  It’s much more intimate than they usually are, but it feels natural, feels _right._   “It’s okay.  I’m back.”

“Don’t you  _ever_  do that again,” Dean mumbles.  Sam knows that he doesn’t mean it as an accusation.

Sam smiles.  “I’ll do my best.  I, uh…I kind of run Hell now.  Ousted Crowley a few months back.  Him and Meg got into the catfight of the ages – it was actually kind of funny.  Crowley’s true form looks kind of like a snake, and he tried to warn me off of  _Good Omens_  comparisons –“

Dean cuts him off with a hand over his mouth.  “Just, lemme…”

Sam’s breath catches in his throat at the look in Dean’s eyes.  It worms in deep around his heart and nestles there, constricting like he’s going to explode if it doesn’t stop.  He nods.

Then, Dean’s taken his hand away and they’re kissing.  This should probably concern Sam, or maybe even Dean, but at this point Sam knows they’re both way too far gone to care.  They’ve been through too much now for this to be weird.

He brings his hand up to cup Dean’s cheek, thumb resting on the jut of the cheekbone near Dean’s eye, and Dean leans into the touch like it’s all he ever wanted.

Sam slips his tongue over the seam of Dean’s lips, and Dean melts under him, opening to let him in.

Eventually, they need to breathe.  Dean needs to breathe, at least.  Sam’s not sure what his new status does for his lung capacity – they’ll have to test that at a later date, to be frank.  So Sam rests his forehead against Dean’s, murmuring, “You okay?”

Dean smiles, almost shy about it.  “Gonna be.  Got you.  Best Christmas present ever, y’know?”

Sam can’t help the quiet, giddy laugh that runs through him, and Dean starts laughing, too.  “Dude,” Sam murmurs, “You are  _never_  living this chick flick moment down.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Everything feels new and good and, Jesus Christ, Sam’s finally willing to believe that some good can come of this.

“You gonna get back down here?” Dean asks, tentatively, like he’s exploring the newness just as much as Sam is.

Sam smiles.  “Sure.”

He brushes his lips across Dean’s gently, savoring the touch.  They’re still wrapped up tight in each other’s arms – Sam’s not too terribly concerned by the fact that he’s not sure he’s ever going to let go – and Dean brings one hand up to thread it through Sam’s hair, and the movement is outright tender.

It’s everything either of them could’ve ever wanted, and Sam intends to treasure it forever.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers when they part again for air.

“Merry Christmas, Sammy.”

—end—

 **Author’s Note:**  I would just like to point out that I managed to write Boy King (essentially)!Sam and Godstiel Christmas Wincest fluff?  I feel like I should be looking for my marbles, especially since I’m itching to write the Timon & Pumbaa-esque conversation going on between Cas and Bobby in the kitchen right now.  Maybe later.  Hope you all enjoy it!


	3. We of Kings and Paupers by sukithefangirl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author: sukithefangirl
> 
> Genre: Fluff/Smut (Schmoop)
> 
> Warnings: None, besides CHRISTMAS FEELS
> 
> Rating: NC-17
> 
> Words: 8600
> 
> Summary: Sam and Dean haven’t had a real Christmas together. One with the tree decorated with too many ornaments, or with the smell of fresh cookies nearly blocking your ability to smell, or even with the friendly old grandma who has the oddest taste in sweaters. But when Sam suggests that he and Dean stay in a home with a room for temporary rent for the holidays, Dean decides to go for it. After all, it’s for Sammy. And whatever Sammy wants, he normally gets.

It was three weeks before Sam first mentioned it. Christmas. Not that Dean had forgotten about it or anything (who really could with everyone wishing him a ‘happy holidays’ or ‘merry christmas’). He just didn’t have much of a need to remember it. With all the cases popping up in the last couple weeks, he and Sam had been more than busy with their attention and thoughts. Or, well, that was what Dean thought, up until one night when Sam came into the motel with the widest of smiles on his face.  
  
“Christmas is coming soon,” he said simply after setting his laptop onto the table, his jacket over the back of that one rickety chair that Dean was sure was about to break at any given moment. 

  
Sam didn’t seem to bother remembering that little fact, striding across the room to sit himself down right next to where Dean was laying lazily on the overly-firm motel bed. He could practically hear the metal springs giving a weak creak of sound when the larger sibling sat his weight down on the edge.  
  
Dean pulled at an eyebrow in simple curiosity. “…And?” He asked. Sammy wasn’t one to simply walk in like that, to smile that wide, not unless he got himself laid with one fucking hot chick, or if he had found a break in the case that would lead to its closing. He didn’t simply just walk into the motel room at nearly ten at night and say ‘Christmas is coming soon’ without something to add.   
  
Dean pushed himself to sit up when his brother didn’t reply at first, watching him almost warily, as if there was something horribly wrong that Sam was trying to hide behind that too-wide smile. “You tryin’ to tell me something? I’m pretty sure I know it’s comin’, Sammy. Can’t really avoid it.” Maybe it was just Sammy being, well, Sammy. He was always the more…sentimental(?) of the two of them. He was always the one to remember their birthdays before anything else, or holidays, or even something as small as their first kiss together. Thought it didn’t always mean much at first to Dean, it meant something to Sammy.  
  
Sam chuckled, turning his eyes over for just a moment to look at the television. There was a commercial of some type running, one of those late night ones that keep going on and on about how the product is the best, or how it will magically make your life the greatest.  While fairly certain it was advertising this stupid little invention that could make four apparently ‘delicious’ pancakes at once, Dean hadn’t been paying much attention to it even before his brother had come into the room with that shit-eating grin of his.   
  
“….I was wondering,” and that tone caught Dean’s attention. That small, soft little voice that Sam used when he was unsure of something and wanted his big brother’s thoughts. A soft hum escaped from his chest, Dean awaiting for Sam to go on until it was obvious that he wasn’t, not without some kind of real reply from his sibling.  
  
“You were wondering….?” Dean prompted his brother onward with an amused smile, lazily grabbing for the remote on the other side of the bed so he could turn it off; he was getting a bit annoyed with hearing how well that stupid pan could make four pancakes at once. He didn’t even really like pancakes all that much, and the constant talking about it was almost making him sick. When the room was silent again, and Dean was fairly sure that Sam for some reason wasn’t trying to make eye contact with him, he tried again. “So, uh…what were you wondering, Sammy? Did you uh- did you want to do something for it this year?”  
  
Sam was quiet for awhile, soft hazel eyes of his flicking back and forth from the bed to Dean’s face. Then, after turning and adjusting himself around on the bed so he was almost literally straddling Dean’s lower legs. Of course, Dean didn’t have any problem at all with that, but wasn’t sure why his brother was suddenly acting so fucking shy. That was and wasn’t like him all at the same time.  
  
“…I was at the store today. I was getting something for us when I accidentally ran into this one older lady that was shopping—I mean, I didn’t hurt her, but I wound up making her drop her basket and a lot of her stuff went everywhere and—”  
  
“Moose,” Dean cut in with a sharp grin of his own, which did the desired effect and cut his brother off from his mostly pointless rambling. “Always a klutz. Gonna hurt someone with how big ya are Sammy.” But it was all in jest, and it did at least give Sam some air of comfort with whatever worry he was dealing with. Dark hazel eyes glared at Dean for a time, but the older brother merely smiled and laid back on the bed, patting the empty space next to him in invitation for Sam to lay beside.  
  
Sam, who was far too touchy and intimate for his own good, crawled beside Dean with a pleasant hum. Dean knew how much he liked to touch, to be touched and held, and never was outside of using it to his advantage.   
  
It took a few more moments, but Sam finally seemed to calm down and continued explaining what had happened.   
  
“After I helped her get all her things cleaned up, we started to talk.” And for a moment, Dean was really trying to piece together why exactly all this was supposed to be worrisome. He was just about to ask that very question when the answer popped right out of Sammy’s parted lips.  
  
“I want us to stay at a house and celebrate Christmas.”  
  
It took Dean a few long moments to completely understand what Sam just said.   
  
“Stay at a…house?” It didn’t compute. Sam and Dean didn’t have a house. They had the Impala, but that was the closest they ever really got.   
  
Sam looked a little worried again, as if Dean was about to lash out at him for some reason (when he was really more confused than anything). “…Her name is Maria Habbensworth. She—well, she owns a rental house. Well, more rooms in the house than anything, so like a boarding home? I guess?” Sam pulled at his lips as if to try and find the right word, but Dean’s raised brows and confused green eyes must have pushed him along in explanation. “She’s renting out rooms for people who don’t really have a place to stay for Christmas, and I—well, I mean, we’ve always celebrated it in a motel and, I mean since—since it’s not like we have the apocalypse to worry about anymore, or demons crashing in our front window, I just thought that it would be nice.”  
  
Sam took a quick breath, probably after not having breathed at all in his fast explanation, and stared at Dean with those soft eyes of his. It was hard to tell whether he was just worried about what Dean would respond with, or if he was asking in his own Sammy-way for Dean to agree. Dean opened his mouth after a few minutes of gentle thought, but Sam cut him off before he could make a sound.  
  
“She’s going to have a huge tree and, you know, make cookies for everyone. Says that she’ll have a huge dinner Christmas eve, and I’ve already checked that we can afford it. It’s not all that bad, and I know it’s for three weeks, but you know, I kinda like this town and I just don’t want to—”  
  
Sam’s voice stopped abruptly, Dean’s calloused index finger pressing to his lips.  
  
“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean all but chuckled, wishing that he had a camera within arm’s reach just so he could capture the look on his brother’s face. “You do realize that you’re going off like a jackrabbit, right?”  
  
It was soft, open, and utterly adorable. He never got to see that look all that often—not outside the intimate moments of lovemaking—but it always left Dean breathless. Sam was beautiful like that. So, it didn’t at all surprise himself when he opened his lips.  
  
“Yeah. I mean, I think we could do that this year; if it means that much to you.”  
  
Sam smiled bright, biting a little on his bottom lip, and the two of them shared a deep and passionate kiss.  
  
————  
  
A few days later and the two of them were as moved into the boarding house as they possibly could, with what little they owned of clothes, electronics, or anything really that wasn’t a weapon of some sort.   
  
Mrs. Habbensworth turned out to be one hell of a woman. Though of course Dean was absolutely sure she could have been at least in her sixties, she had energy. A lot of it. She was shorter than him, curled grey hair, and had a constant taste in odd-colored sweaters; but he would give the woman definite points for having a bit of sass in the way she held herself up.  
  
It took only two days before Dean and her got into their first stubborn debate. The older Winchester had tracked dirt and snow into the front hall, leaving the older woman almost fuming. After a long and incredible battle of biting remarks back and forth, Dean was the one who had to be on his hands and knees cleaning it up.   
  
Sam hadn’t been able to control his laughter at the sight, he and the woman drinking hot chocolate in the kitchen, and Dean muttering little Latin curses under his breath during the entire process.  
  
But, surprisingly, he had quickly grown fond of the old woman’s stubborn rules and dry wit. If anything, she somewhat reminded him of his mother. Well, somewhat. She was nice, one way or another, and Sammy had grown even more fond of her than Dean did.  
  
The first week of staying at the woman’s home was a bit weird. Sam and Dean promised each other (though for Dean it was a little more of a push) to take a break from hunting. Just for Christmas. Yet, both brothers had a slight habit of waking up in the middle of the night and patrolling around the house.   
  
For a time, Mrs. Habbensworth commented about it. She would ask them what kept both of the brothers up at night over her dinners she made for them and the two others staying with her (they being her son Paul and her daughter, Rosaline). Time and time again Sam or Dean would just say they’re light sleepers, and she would happily take that as an excuse.   
  
After a few days, she just stopped asking.  
  
Instead, she decided it was their responsibility for taking her two little dogs out if they needed to be walked late at night.  
  
It was, in some sense of things, a good agreement.  
  
———  
  
It was a week from Christmas when Dean was in the garage fixing up the Impala.  
  
“Hey, Dean.” Sam’s voice pulled the man from his activities, half hidden by the opened hood of the Impala. Dean cursed in a hiss when his movement to pull his head out and look at Sam had him bang his head against one very annoying piece of metal holding the hood up, but nonetheless turned his attentions to his younger brother.

  
“Yeah?” he gruffed, rubbing a hand over the already-tender spot on his forehead. “What’cha want Sammy?” He prayed it wasn’t another mess that Mrs. Habbensworth would force him to clean up. The last one wasn’t even his fault.  
  
Sam was biting on his lower lip, a half smile gracing his features.I’m going out with Mrs. Habbensworth and her daughter. You know, shopping.”  
  
“I really hope you aren’t asking me to go along.” But Dean was smiling, almost amused by how cute his brother looked, just standing there. The way his neck was covered with a thick and probably hand-knit scarf (which he had few doubts belonged in some way to the old, hilariously stubborn woman), or how his jacket clung around his body. It made Sam look small, if it was even possible. Like the little brother he was to Dean, someone who would always needed to be appreciated and protected.  
  
Fuck, Dean suddenly realized that he had been staring, and quickly pretended that he was putting his attention to some random metal piece in the engine of the Impala. The smile in Sam’s voice as he replied (holding back an obvious chuckle), was happily evident.  
  
“No. I don’t think you’d be any good at it.” And certainly the older Winchester didn’t have an argument against that. He heard as Sam took a few steps out of the doorway leading into the house. “I just—I want to talk when I get back, alright?”  
  
“Is everything okay?” Dean always had a problem with thinking the worst when it happened. When Sam said they needed to “talk.” It was the way he said it, how his lips seemed to shape the word with priceless, careful intent. The first time that Sam had said that he and Dean needed to “talk,” it had ended up with both of them making out on the nearest surface in their motel. Though of course, it wasn’t always negative, it certainly meant that Sam needed to talk about something important.  
  
“Yeah, yeah everything is fine-” Sam was quick to assure so with waving, calming palms held in the air in front of him (which was a little funny since he was wearing thick brown mittens that caught and mussed about the hanging knitted scarf). “I just, you know, wanna talk about something that’s kinda important.”  
  
“Important like, bad-important? Or good?” Eyebrows raised, Dean couldn’t even be swayed by Sam and his oversized mittens. When Sam pulled at his bottom lip with his teeth again, he knew it was definitely important. But when the brunet started peering around Dean and the Impala, looking around the garage as if to check if they were alone, he knew it wasimportant. Important somewhere in the category of them fucking and making out on a relatively normal basis. Yeah, important.  
  
But Sam looked satisfied after a few moments at the lack of anyone else in the garage with Dean. Dean chuffed,  
  
“You know we already gave them the story, right?” Boyfriends from out of town, low money, nowhere to stay. Not the best or the most thought-out story to give, but he didn’t understand why it was a problem to talk about their relationship. As long as the general public didn’t know about the incest thing. It had never been a problem before; the Winchesters already had the uncanny ability to pretend to be people that they weren’t.  
  
“Dean.” Sam reached out one of his soft-mitten hands when his older brother partially turned back to the engine of the car. “It’s good-important, I think. But we really need to talk about it.”  
  
“You think?” Dean chuckled, but allowed himself to be pulled away from Baby.  Most of the job was already done, since Mrs. Habbensworth’s son, Paul (a little younger than Dean), had given him a hand with all the latest adjustments and fix-ups with some of the engine problems he and Sam had been having the last month with her. “It’s either good or bad, Sammy. But sure, we can talk about it later.” Whatever made Sammy happy, even if there were occasions where he was a bit too girly and feel-y for Dean’s liking (well, maybe not as much as Dean would ever outwardly say).  
  
“You aren’t going to a bar tonight?” The question made Dean stop for almost a full moment.  
  
“Are you sure there isn’t something wrong?” He closed the hood of the impala with a gentle thump of metal. Of course, he and Sammy were more than honest with eachother, about everything, but that wasn’t something they always brought up.  
  
“Dean.” The two brothers met eye to eye. And they stood there, silent, but the gaze of their meeting eyes spoke volumes that their mere voices never could.  
  
While the two brothers had indeed given into their incestuous desires for several years now, they were anything but exclusive to each other. They still had their individual flings with an occasional chick or dude, but that was just it—it was just a fling. One-night stand (though Dean always managed a lot more than his younger brother did; he always said it was because of his skill). Sam and Dean both understood it was sex and little else. They knew they loved each other and always would.  
  
Still, it didn’t stop Sam from being again, a real girl. He constantly asked that Dean and himself get checked for STDs at the nearest walk-in clinic when they were in a big city, and never let his brother and him fuck (or, as Sammy called it ‘making love’. Dean wasn’t completely against calling it that) without a condom on the respective penetrating brother.  
  
It wasn’t something that was necessarily wrong or bad to ask (in some ways, it made Dean calm in knowing that Sam was somewhat concerned with his sexual proclivities outside of their own), but the implication that Sam was reflecting in his question had Dean worried nonetheless.  
  
So when Sam stood there, looking near ridiculous in his thick jacket, mittens and nearly crazy-looking scarf, Dean just had to wonder what was flickering through his baby brother’s mind.  
  
“…Just—we need to talk. I want us to talk. Nothing bad, I think, but just…I’ll see you tonight?”  
  
Dean could have demanded an explanation right then and there, any number of ways that he knew would make his younger brother talk. But the look of simple vulnerability, even if it was there for only the faintest of moments, made the older Winchester merely press his lips together and nod. He forced a grin after a moment.  
  
“Sure Sammy—uh, yeah, I wasn’t plannin’ on going anywhere anyway tonight. Paul said he’d help me with Baby, so uh, that was what I was goin’ to do.” As if to affirm his words, Dean knocked his knuckles up on the underside of the open hood of the Impala. He was still confused why his brother seemed so adamant that he wasn’t going to the bar, but there wasn’t a chance that he could bother probing further on the subject; Sammy was smiling wide and bright, the happiest he’d ever been in…in a long time.  
  
“Good,” the taller of the two whispered, no trace of hidden worry left in his tone. “I should be back in a couple hours. Do you…need me to pick you up anything?”  
  
Dean turned back to the Impala to shut the hood, looking deep in genuine thought. There was little that came to mind that the man actually needed. They had their guns and supplies stocked, safely locked up in the trunk of the dark Impala, so they didn’t even need to pay mind to that. Food was gracefully offered by Mrs. Habbensworth (Sam had been the one who seemed more grateful to that than Dean was), so that left little else of the possibility that Dean even needed to want for.  
  
“I guess we need some more lube,” Dean finally said with a casual fling of his hand, wiping it on his jeans when he realized he had a dark stain of oil covering most of the palm. He could hear Sam shuffling awkwardly behind him. And Dean knew the other far too well; he knew Sam was probably blushing, him and his easily bashful self. One of the things that made Sammy so good for Dean, made him so easy to desire, to want to protect.  
  
Dean smirked and walked around the car, quickly grabbing an old orange cloth that had been discarded on the floor so he didn’t completely ruin his pants with the slick, messy black oil. “Or condoms. We don’t have a lot left, so yeah, we need more of them.”   
  
When the older Winchester turned his eyes up from wiping off his hands, he was slightly surprised to find Sam giving him a look. Before Dean could properly allow the look to filter through his brain through the many possible expressions that his brother could have been wearing, Sam smiled (a little too wide) and quickly left the garage with a quip of goodbye to Dean.  
  
And Dean was left as he had been before; waiting for Paul to get back from the auto store so they could continue fixing up Baby. But he hadn’t a single clue, even hours later, what Sam’s expression had meant.  
  
——-  
  
Sam didn’t return until later that evening. But Dean was so busy keeping to himself, his mind rolling over one problem after another with the Impala that he barely noticed the noise coming from the kitchen. But when he does, it’s loud and piercing. He distinctly heard a shout that was most definitely his brother, and quickly pulled himself from his home project just to listen more intently. After a moment the voice spoke again, shouting things that Dean couldn’t quite make out from where he was in the garage.  
  
The oil-stained rag tossed to the ground,  Dean’s footsteps lead past the door into the house, down the front hall and to the archway that lead into the kitchen. Of course there was the possibility of tracking oil or something in the house, and that Mrs. Habbensworth might get on his back for it (like she had the last three times), but Dean’s curiosity was far more powerful than his sense of sanity, and when he peered past the wall he was met with an almost heartwarming sight.  
  
Sam was sitting at the dining room table, his face soft and utterly devoid of tension. It was as if there wasn’t a worry for his muscles to hold onto, no thoughts or ill feelings that filled him. And instead, Dean was sure he hadn’t seen his brother so relaxed and simply happy in a long time, talking with such mirth and joy that it was almost as if he was looking into a time machine. He was seeing little Sammy again, so alive with joy that it was as if his smile was lighting up the room with it.  
  
Dean watched his younger brother talking to Mrs. Habbensworth and her daughter, from useless topics to snow, fashion, the news, weather, and round circle right back to snow again. Sam looked so relaxed, so….domestic. It brought a smile to Dean’s face, who merely stood there poking his head out like an idiot to watch them before-  
  
“Dean?” It was Rose, Mrs. Habbensworth’s daughter, with her sharp eagle-eyes that noticed him. Finding little reason to keep his presence a secret, the older Winchester stepped out into the doorway almost sheepily, giving a bright smile and half-praying that the old woman wouldn’t start inquiring about his dirty shoes on her floor.  
  
“Uh, hey,” Dean replied lightly, his eyes flickering over to Sam’s still-joyful face for a moment before he cleared his throat. “I finished up fixin’ Baby for tonight and heard you guys come home. Uh, I hope the shopping was…good.” It was on quite an awkward note; small talk was never one of Dean’s better points of ability.  
  
But Sam noticed it, and almost instantly replied. “It was really nice, actually.” And his smile was still there, still bright and happy as it had been before Dean entered the room, and it made his heart give a warm and gleeful thump in his chest at the sight. Sam….being happy. Really happy. “It was really busy of course, but there were a lot of sales but the girls and I-” Sam could have continued talking. He probably had a million things to say, but none of them managed to slip out of his lips after that, most notably since Dean had managed in that time to take the few steps needed over to them, and pressed his own right over Sam’s in a chaste, but blissful kiss.  
  
Even when Dean decided to pull away, Sam was still silent. Hazel eyes looked up at his brother for a few moments, and there was nothing else between them in that singular moment but warmth. Sam’s happiness was tangible, was beautiful and warm and everything that Dean ever desired for his baby brother to feel. It made his heart leap just to know that Sam wasn’t impaired or something, wasn’t messed up because of him so he couldn’t be that happy anymore. But Sam was happy, and Dean decided it was the most beautiful look on his brother. It made his eyes glow, his face glimmer….it made him absolutely irresistible to look like that.  
  
Somewhere between the glowing kiss and the heated stare, Dean faintly was aware that there were two other people in the room. He started to step away (almost awkwardly, though Sam’s smug grin wasn’t to be wiped from his face), intent on saying something or another to the fairly surprised woman and her daughter.  
  
But before Dean is even able to filter in what they’re saying, Sam’s nodding his head and eagerly pushing himself from the chair. He grabbed tight around the older’s wrist, pulling him out of the kitchen without a single moment to understand what he was just about to say to Mrs. Habbensworth and her daughter.  
  
It wasn’t until Sam has (nearly forcefully) pulled Dean up to their rented room that he actually managed to make his lips work again.  
  
“What the hell?” He asked quickly, pulling his hand out of his younger brother’s grasp. His tone was amused, but it didn’t lessen the ever so slight confusion that he had for Sam’s odd actions. “Seriously, why did you nearly drag me out of the kitchen? I know I’m hot and sexy, but I mean, I don’t-”  
  
The elder brother was silenced by yet another kiss, Sam’s lips still as soft and warm as they had been just a few moments ago in the kitchen. If anything it made Dean’s entire head swim with it, raw sensation and simple adoration for his larger, yet younger brother.   
  
Sam was smiling when he finally pulled away from it, leaving Dean to realize how close their bodies were, how his hands had found their way around Sam’s waist.  
  
“…Dean…” The elder brother couldn’t keep himself in that pleasant state even if he wanted to, his ears almost instinctually focusing on that tone of voice Sam used when he needed to talk about something. More or less an adaptation from having to look after him for so long in their lives, needing to make sure that Sam was always happy and well-kept.  
  
“…Hmm?” The fact that he had just been demanding answers had quickly been pushed out of his head, leaving nothing but the distinct desire to continue kissing Sam within his brain. What else was he to bother thinking about when he had Sammy right there in his arms?  
  
“We needed to talk, remember?”  
  
“Talk later, Sammy,” Dean tried to push himself forward for another aching kiss, but Sam wouldn’t allow it. He turned his head away from his older brother’s lips (which wasn’t all that hard, considering his height). But that got Dean’s attention, whom looked at him with almost a glare in his eyes at being denied.  
  
“No,” Sam insisted, trying to lead both of them over to their shared bed. “Talk now. I need to talk with you. It’s…kinda important.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and allowed it, though all his mind could churn out in thought was how hot Sam would look like on his knees, or on his back with his legs in the air…. When was the last time they actually did anything together? He couldn’t honestly remember, and when that happened it was definitely too long of a gap.  
  
Sam was speaking, and Dean was sure that it was important, given the look of near-worry that his baby brother was intently expressing.   
  
But it wasn’t until a pure, distinct phrase from his baby brother’s mouth that Dean actually bothered to hone in on the actual words.  
  
“…without a condom.”  
  
“What?” Dean asked with a frown. Alright, what had he all missed in his sexy daydream?  
  
“Dean. I wanted to know what you thought of us-” As if it was honestly needed, Sam made a vague gesture between the two of them. “-having sex without a condom.”  
  
“Without a condom?” Dean had heard his brother perfectly. Yet his body felt the compulsive need to repeat it, as if he needed to cement the fact that Sammy had said it. Sam nodded, looking almost sheepish. “…bareback? No protection? Seriously Sam, you havin’ a stroke or somethin’ here? I thought you hated having sex without me havin’ one on.”   
  
And that was the moment that Sam gave a soft, oddly annoyed sigh. “That’s the point, Dean,” he started to say with those soft hazel eyes giving him that look all over again. “…I want us to be….well. I want us just to have sex with each other.”  
  
And that promptly took even longer to compute within Dean’s mind, rolling over the words with acute confusion.   
  
Ever since the brothers started sleeping with each other, they had always known that the relationship wasn’t completely monogamous. They still slept with other people, regardless if they always fell back to each other. It was how they worked for years, and Dean hadn’t a clue in the world why Sam was suddenly up and asking about changing it. In fact, he wasn’t sure whether to be scared, worried, or frustrated at it.   
  
“Sam, I thought we talked about this before….” Dean was sure they had. Back when they started crossing the line from brothers to lovers (however far back that fucking was), they had to have spoken about it. Right? They had spoken about sleeping with other people, of course, Dean was sure he would have at least touched base on it.   
  
They couldn’t be monogamous with eachother. It was a line that Dean was always scared of crossing. He didn’t want to be the thing that kept his baby brother from having the perfect life. He was fine just being there for the comfort and sex, really, as long as he knew that Sammy was happy.  
  
But Sam was strong and adamant about the point, driving it farther with a glare towards Dean. “Listen. I just…I can’t keep going like this anymore.” His grip on Dean’s hand lessened, and finally his hands fell to his own lap, twiddling fingers almost awkwardly. The air grew stagnant within the room, and it suddenly started to feel difficult to breathe.  
  
“What in the hell do you mean?” Dean inquires with a pulled brow. “We’ve been doing this for years, Sammy.You know the drill. I mean, if we…you know. You’ll find a great girl one day and have a kid with her and, er…” It made Dean’s stomach churn with distaste. He absolutely hated the mental image, Sam with anyone else, but he was almost 100% certain that was what Sam wanted, and he never could be that single person keeping his brother from that happiness.  
  
Sam looked at him for a moment, and it literally broke Dean’s heart to return his gaze. Hazel eyes were staring at him, through all the flesh and bone and right into his soul, right where it hurt the most.  
  
It made his baby brother’s confession even worse of a revelation.  
  
“I haven’t slept with anyone else in three months, Dean.”  
  
And fuck if that didn’t make the older brother’s heart give a tiny lurch of hope. Sam huffed and continued to twiddle his fingers while Dean moved his lips about awkwardly, trying to remember how to reply.  
  
“…nobody?”  
  
“Nobody. Except you. I tried once or twice but….I just can’t. I literally can’t.” And Sam scowled to himself, as if remembering something incredibly unpleasant. Dean didn’t even bother to ask what it was that made the expression pull at Sam’s normally soft features. He could probably guess it. Because hearing Sammy say that hit closer to home than he would have liked.   
  
He bit on his lower lip with growing worry, stomach and mind churning with similar ache and emptiness.   
  
It wasn’t until Dean felt Sam’s long, awkward arms wrapping around his shoulders that he pulled himself out of his stupor, head turning sharply to the side just to find his brother’s face right next to his. Their lips were only a breath away from eachother, just about ready to touch. It was hot and perfect in every way but one.  
  
“…Sammy.” Dean wanted to find a reason, any reason really, to try and derail Sam from what he obviously wanted. And Dean wanted it to, he really did, wanted it like nothing else in the world. But it wouldn’t be normal. Not that they really knew what ‘normal’ was at that point in their lives (well, any point really), but Dean had clung to that little dot of decision for years. Sam would get married. Sam would have a kid. His Sammy, his baby brother Sammy would have a family and be happy. Dean was almost sure that couldn’t be achieved if Dean was the person Sam wanted like that.  
  
Almost.  
  
When the elder brother tried to put all his reasons and thoughts to actual words Sam cut him off, lips brushing over in a soft touch of velvet and flesh.   
  
“Please,” he nearly begged, though his voice was doing anything but. It was soft and light in everything that was Sammy, baby brother Sammy, in that little voice that would always beg for the coolest trading card or for Dean to just stop it, he’s not a kid anymore. It was the voice that big brother Dean could never deny.  
  
Before either of them could realize it, they were kissing sloppily on the bed, limbs tangled as much as their tongues were. Little hushed sounds of ‘Dean please’ made their way past Sam’s soft lips between the frantic need for teeth and tongue.  
  
Somewhere in between all that passion, Dean’s hands found the hem of his brother’s shirt and started eagerly to pull it up, to run his palms over that perfect expanse of sensitive skin, to roll the pads of his calloused thumbs over those perfect pink nipples and watch how much it made his baby brother squirm-  
  
“Dean…” Sam complained at the movement, denying the other the ability to pull his shirt up by grabbing Dean’s wrist. “Seriously. I need an answer.” And damn it for Sam’s ability to focus on things like words and questions through sex. One of the things Dean really didn’t like. It made Sam all the more like a girl.  
  
The older brother turned his emerald eyes over for just a moment, a simple flicker to the bedside stand where he knew the last couple condoms lay hidden in the drawer. Though it wasn’t as if there was much of a choice in his answer.   
  
“Is this what you want?” Dean spoke gentle, but firm, hands reaching up to hold Sam’s face. Their eyes meet with a roaring intensity, one that he was sure if material would have more power than all of the weapons in the trunk of the Impala. It was….it was honest.  
  
“Yes.” Sam gave Dean a look, a look that he could recall to being on the younger Winchester’s face many a time or two when he was younger. That pleading, begging look that he always gave Dean. “I want this, I want you. Please Dean, just…tell me you want the same? Tell me we can try?”  
  
Try to be together. Try to be only one for the other. Try to be as normal as they could get in their fucked-up life.  
  
Just as Dean allowed his lips to part open in reply, something snapped. Something deep and primal, something that took his entire body in waves of absolute power that he simply couldn’t place. He flipped the both of them over instantly, hovering over Sam’s body like a gate.  
  
And then they were kissing again, Sam’s hands held down just above his head in his older brother’s powerful grip.  
  
“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean grunted between kisses, flurrying presses of lips everywhere he could reach. Soft cheeks, warm throat, nose, forehead. Everywhere that was his Sammy.  
  
His Sammy. HIS Sammy. Dean was sure he never felt such power before. Such passionate power that could make his every cell light up in raw, unrestrained joy.  
  
His natural worry for what was right and wrong could go fuck itself. He hadhis Sammy. All his. Baby brother Sammy that he could hold and love and protect. If Sam wanted it, he could have it, every last inch of it. Dean was more than happy to spill his love for his brother, in any way that he could.  
  
The kissing became heated without hesitation, and soon the two brothers were pulling clothes off. Naked flesh pressed together eagerly, the only sound being that of their hot breath coursing over pale and tan flesh.  
  
When they were both finally nude, Dean’s hand fumbled over to the bedside table, opening the drawer with a quick and jerky motion. Within lay a clutter of objects, from small bottles of lotion, lube, a few of the aforementioned condoms, and a few random trinkets that he was sure really didn’t belong there.  
  
When Dean pulled out the small ring of rubber and held it between their bodies so Sam could see, he was just about sure that his brother was just about to toss him off the bed and onto the hard wooden floor. But just before Sam had the chance to (expression between that of hurt and confusion), Dean leaned down and pressed one simple, gentle kiss to those perfect lips he loved so much.  
  
“I suppose we won’t need these anymore…” He whispered against them. With a small flick of his wrist, the condom was across the room, quickly forgotten as Dean went back to rooting around for the real item he had been transfixed on finding.  
  
He came back this time with lube, clear and nothing special in a small container that had only been used once. Sam’s eyes were practically gleaming up at him. He was sure there was some form of gratefulness hidden in those fuckin’ perfect hazel eyes, but it was instead transferred through several deep, slow kisses, the kind that Dean was sure should have been branded as sex in their own form.  
  
Though he wanted to make it last, wanted to feel the new sense of passion smoldering between him and Sam, the nagging desire to push himself into that tight heat was almost painful. To know he was bare, without anything dulling the pleasure between them, to feel himself in Sammy like that. The thought made him shiver in instant pleasure.  
  
“Gonna get you all slicked up, alright baby boy?” Dean was seated between Sam’s legs without hesitation, pushing those tan thighs apart with gentle hands and cooing, ever-so-familiar words. “So I can push myself into that tight ass of yours. Nice and hot huh, bet it’s gonna be even better without a piece of rubber between us…” Was that a kink? If it wasn’t, Dean was fairly sure he was starting to make it one for himself. Bare cock in Sam’s perfect ass. Yeah, now that was definitely a kink if it was making his own dick jump like that. Hot, hard and aching to be inside his brother.  
  
Sam didn’t reply with words. He almost never did when pushed that far in pleasure. Instead, he made his thoughts clear with his expression. Sam always had an expressive face, and it only seemed to be even more obvious during sex. Dean always thought it made him more beautiful, however.  
  
It didn’t take long before Dean had two slicked fingers pressing against the rim of Sam’s hole, gently pushing in until the tips just barely poked in. Sam squirmed, and Dean continued to coo gentle words of meaningful affection in his ear.  
  
“Hey baby boy, it’s alright. Dean’s gonna take good care of ya’. Gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good Sammy, better than any chick could. Yeah, just like that, gonna make you squeal my name.” By the end of the last word, his fingers were in a knuckle deeper, pushing in and out in light thrusts. Sam moaned, light and soft until it was nearly a mewl of sound, and Dean took it to mean that he could push in a bit farther.   
  
Soon the entire length of both fingers were swallowed up by that perfect heat, all slick and tight in just the right way that Dean liked. Not sloppy like some drunk chick’s at a bar, but velvety like a rose. It was a heat that was familiar, one that Dean couldn’t help but let himself want and need and yearn for. Because it was Sam.  
  
It took the older brother a few extra thrusts before he was fairly certain he found that little bundle inside his brother. Even after years of doing it, the angle was always hard to get. He had to crook his fingers just right, in just the right way to find it. And even then Sam had to be a mass of pleasured limbs already before he could take it, always complaining that any bit of contact beforehand was too much. If one of his old girlfriends would have complained that bad, Dean was fairly certain that he would have never bothered to finger them again.  
  
But it was more than worth it with Sammy. Because when Dean finally found it, finally did it in just the right way, it made Sam’s eyes light up. The way he would arch his back into the touch, his cheeks flushed hot and red. It was perfect, the most beautiful sight he could have ever laid eyes on.  
  
Beautiful Sammy. Fucking perfect, so perfect and beautiful in ways Dean would never find in anyone else. With his perfect face and perfect eyes and absolutely fuckin’ perfect smile.  
  
“Oh fuck….Dean…” And moans too. Dean went absolutely crazy to hear Sam’s moans and whimpers.   
  
Dean couldn’t even begin to explain how fast he went from being knuckle-deep in Sam’s ass to pushing the head of his cock up against the rim of his brother’s tight opening. It was as if his fingers hadn’t done a single thing to stretch his brother open, the pucker just as tight and clenching as it had been before, and that alone made Dean feel a million shades hotter.  
  
“Hmm….feel that, baby boy?” Dean hummed in pleasure, merely letting the tip rub around in messy circles about the hot tightness of muscles. “Gonna fuck you just right. Nice and bare, nothin’ between us. Fuck Sammy, yeah, already feel so good…” Dean slicked his cock up with what of the lube was left over his hands, messy and slippery and all too perfect.  
  
He hooked those long legs over his shoulders without a word, and pushed himself in with slow, loving intent.  
  
Fuck; Sam felt even tighter than before. The absence of a condom contributed to the sensation, hot skin on skin, feeling his baby brother as much inside as he did out.  
  
And Sam was loving it. Writhing about like a girl having sex for the first time. His hands moving about, searching before they gripped onto Dean’s biceps, or how his mouth fell open with silent moans of need.   
  
Fuck. It was a beautiful sight. Dean actually wanted to take a picture just so he could hang it in the Impala, just so he could look at it whenever he wanted. Sammy’s soft face taken like that, raw in passion and pleasure.   
  
“So fuckin’ tight, baby. Fuckin’ fuck.” Less coherent thought managed through Dean’s thought-to-mouth filter, leaving him with nothing more than errant cussing and desperate rutting against his brother. Deep within him, in and out, back and forth. It was so good, so perfectly wonderful that it made his nerves light up even brighter than the christmas tree downstairs. And he didn’t even need to move all that quickly, instead working his way through the pleasure with slow, lazy thrusts, savoring the sensation of beingbare within Sam’s gorgeous body.  
  
It was even different to come without a condom on; upon release, he just let go. Dean could feel himself emptying within his baby brother, and fuck it all if that wasn’t some form of pride that ran through his mind. Knowing that he claimed Sam in a way he couldn’t before, marking the man as his and his alone. His Sammy. His beautiful Sammy.   
  
He lazily thrusted through his own orgasm and into Sam’s, watching in muted and slurred pleasure as Sam gave little shouts and muffled whimpers, while his cock gave a couple hearty jumps to messy both of their fronts with thick, white stripes.  
  
“Sammy, fuck, baby boy oh fuck—FUCK you feel so good. Fillin’ you up so full, yeah, yeah, that’s good baby….” Though Dean was long done with his own release, it was nothing less than sweet and warm to watch Sam’s finish the last couple waves of his own, slowly pulling himself out of the other and laying down besides the lanky, awkward Winchester. “…Sammy. So beautiful….”   
  
And damn it all if Dean couldn’t have his occasional chick-flick moment. He just had one of the best fucks in the last decade (at least) and he wanted to damn well revel in it. The laziest, most fantastic fuck ever. Not to mention, with what it had as a meaning, he’d be having much of the same kind of sex for a long time coming.  
  
Neither brother honestly cared that they were covered in come and sweat and who knew what else. They were pressed together, chest to chest, warm and happy in ways that they were sure probably should have been nonexistent.  
  
“…I love you, Sammy,” Dean whispered, stroking a single finger down Sam’s sweat-clinging cheek. Sam allowed his eyes to flutter open, the first time since the peak of orgasm, and instantly clung his gaze upon his brother.  
  
Sam smiled then, soft and lazy, as if his entire body was made of some kind of hot dough. “…Love you too, Dean. Always will.”

  
Dean was sure that somehow, somewhere, he was going to ingrain that image into his brain. That look of absolute happiness upon his baby brother’s face.  
  
————  
  
It was a week later, and laughter was in full force.  
  
“I think you might find that helpful with the weather now, sonny,” Mrs. Habbensworth’s eyes were wide with serious intent, looking at Dean in such a glare that he was certain that if he didn’t agree, there would be poison in his dinner that evening. He chuckled sheepishly and held the sweater up again like it was a white flag of peace.  
  
“I’ll wear it, really, totally will.” He promised it  with yet another smile, though it was obvious by the returning look of smug, rolling eyes from the older woman that she really didn’t believe him. Sam, who was sitting snug beside Dean, stole the dark brown-and-red sweater from his hands, instead holding it against his chest.  
  
“If he doesn’t, I know I will.” Dean isn’t sure how his brother could speak like that with that ugly sweater in his grasp, but he’d be damned if he would even try to argue it. He wasn’t….a sweater guy. Especially not a brown-and-red sweater guy. He’d let Sammy win on that account.  
  
Paul was the next to open a gift, from his sister, finding out with a smile that yes, she knew that he needed a new tool set for his work. Perfect, shiney and new, it seemed as if that was the only thing on his mind, even when his sister Rosaline started to reach for the next gift under the tree.  
  
“Oh uh, hey Dean? You got another.” She held it in both hands, weighing it experimentally. “The tag says it’s from…uh, oh, from your boyfriend.” She smirked and leaned over the arm of the couch so Sam could reach for it himself, then hand it over to Dean.   


Dean could have sworn he saw some sort of smirk practically beaming from his brother, but he was too curious about how much the freaking thing weighed to care. It was just a small box for crying out loud! How could it weigh that much?  
  
“I really hope you like it,” Sam whispered beside him, that smug idiot still holding onto that horrid sweater like it was the best gift he’d ever gotten in woolen form.  
  
Dean should have been a tad worried at that, but nonetheless tore open the red paper wrapped about the box. When he finally had the actual object revealed, he nearly shoved Sam off the couch.  
  
But instead of taking the expression on Dean’s face as a warning, Sam merely laughed, leaning over to Dean’s ear and whispering, “After all, since you like pancakes so much.”

Dean stared at the ridiculous pancake maker from the ridiculous infomercials, now in his hands.

Fucking Sammy.  
  
Fucking perfect, beautiful Sammy, and his stupid eyes, his stupid smile.  
  
And most of all, his absolutely stupid need for somehow managing to put together the first actual Christmas that Dean and he could have together.   
  
As lovers as much as brothers.


	4. Pink Candy Canes by jenspadalicki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author: jenspadalicki
> 
> Word Count: 2200
> 
> Warnings: Here There Be Porn, use of a Pyrex glass candy cane dildo

“Dean. What’s going on?”

Dean grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him upstairs to their room, where the knives lay on the table next to the bed.

“Here.” Dean thrust Sam’s knife into his hand. “Put it on your belt.”

It was the 25th of December, and the motel room smelt of mold and beer. Sam and Dean sat next to each other watching the game, sipping on their beers. In the corner of the room stood a wonky, scarcely decorated Christmas tree with barely any branches and above the TV a “Merry Christmas” sign hung lopsided. The lights on the tree twinkled as the two brothers relaxed on the moth-bitten couch.

“You know, there is one present that I haven’t given you yet.” Dean turned to face Sam.

“And what would that be?” Sam replied, a smile playing on his lips.

“Not sure if you’re worthy of it yet. It’s sort of festive, and you haven’t really given me anything.. proper, Sammy.”

 Sam’s eyes darkened as his thoughts wandered. He subconsciously bit his bottom lip and Dean’s gaze was drawn to his beautiful, rosy lips. He couldn’t help imagining his brothers lips pressed against his, their tongues dancing in each others mouths. But no, Dean decided that he should make Sam wait. Make him suffer. And as mean as that made Dean feel, he got the the biggest rush from it.

Sam stared longingly into Dean’s eyes. “What would you like me to do?” he asked sweetly.

“Oh no, Sammy. This isn’t one of those ‘I say, you do’ things. You have to earn it. Proper.” Dean licked his lips at the thought of Sam using the ‘present’ that he was going to give him.

“And I can do… Anything? You won’t mind?”

“‘Cept slicing and dicing me, that’s off limits. But I’m all yours.” Dean winked.

Sam liked that thought, that Dean was all his. His. His brother. His best friend. His hunting partner. His sexual partner. It made him feel at home.

“One condition, cowboy,” Dean whispered, his face inches away from Sam’s. “No. Kissing. On. The. Mouth.”

Sam swallowed. This wasn’t going to be easy for him. He loved kissing Dean. He craved it. It made him the happiest that he’s ever been. But he wanted the present, even if he was unsure of what it was. It sounded interesting and if Dean had specifically gone out and bought it for him, then he sure as hell was going to do everything in his power to earn it.

Sam got up off the couch and knelt on the carpet, eyes on Dean’s. He put his beer bottle on the coffee table and started taking Dean’s shoes and socks off. Then his belt and jeans, and finally his underpants. Dean’s breath was quickening at the anticipation of Sam’s movements. He knew what was coming, but when Sam’s fingertips grazed Dean’s upper thigh or his knee, it sent shivers down his spine.

Sam ran his hands up Dean’s shirt, lifting it slowly above his head. He heard Dean’s sharp intake of breath as he brushed his fingers on Dean’s forearms. Sam knew he was getting Dean worked up. He loved seeing Dean all hot and flustered.

Sam went back to Dean’s now-aching erection, studying it for a few moments before deciding where to start. He finally spread Dean’s legs slightly and placed soft, wet kisses up and down Dean’s inner thighs. He kept his hands holding onto Dean’s lower back, steadying himself. Dean was going wild. He wished Sam would just get to the point, but he knew it was better to be suspenseful or else the end result would be unsatisfying. And he did not want that. So he kept his mouth shut, except for the small whimpers and moans that escaped it.

When Sam had kissed every part of Dean’s thighs, licked up and down his cock using long strokes.

“Dammit, Sammy,” Dean moaned. Sam chuckled softly as he used his right hand to slowly jerk Dean off. Dean moaned again, this time louder, with a hint of want in his voice. Sam began to lick the head of Dean’s penis as pre-come started seeping out. He leisurely sucked the tip as Dean arched his back and grasped Sam’s floppy hair with both his hands. Sam figured he should stop being such a cocktease, and immediately deep-throated Dean.

The tiniest of sounds escaped Dean’s mouth as his eyes rolled back into his head and his hands dug into Sam’s head. Sam sucked on the index finger of his left hand as he continued pumping Dean’s cock. Dean moaned and writhed on the couch at Sam’s urgency. As Dean felt himself about to explode, Sam’s jerking off stopped. Dean took his hands off Sam’s head and stared down at him with a quizzical look on his face. Sam continued sucking on his index finger, bringing his middle finger to his mouth as well. Dean watched, transfixed, as Sam sucked and sucked with his eyes closed. He opened his eyes and stared at Dean. He took his fingers out of his mouth and positioned them on Dean’s anus. Dean moaned in pleasure as Sam’s fingers penetrated him.

Sam began moving his right hand up and down Dean’s cock as he twisted his fingers in and out of Dean’s ass.

“Shit.. Sammy… Please.. L-Let me.. Let me come…. Jesus..” Dean whispered, head thrown back, hands digging into the couch. Sam stopped. He took his fingers out of Dean, licked them thoroughly and kissed his way from the top of Dean’s thigh to his foot, and then on the other leg.

Dean was going crazy. His whole body was stimulated and every nerve felt electrified as Sam kissed all over his legs. He moaned and groaned and tried to formulate sentences with his mouth but it wasn’t happening. Sweat was forming on his forehead as Sam continued his little game.

For 10 more minutes, Sam brought Dean to the brink of orgasm and then stopped. Dean was so frustrated by it all. He wanted to badly to come. He wanted to feel the release. He wanted Sam to drink up his come like he was the thirstiest man in the world. But Sam kept denying him of this. He was putting Dean through torture, and he knew it.

Finally, right hand pumping up and down Dean’s aching cock, left hand sliding in and out of Dean’s well-lubricated ass, Sam kept sucking the head of Dean’s cock as Dean climaxed. Sam took his fingers out of Dean and stopped jacking him off in time to catch the spurts of come shooting from Dean’s cock.

“Sammy..oh god, Sammy.” Dean groaned, exhausted. Sam was too busy licking and swallowing Dean’s come to answer. But he knew. He knew he had earned this ‘present’ that Dean had for him. And he was so excited to get it that he nearly leaned up and kissed Dean. But he didn’t want to ruin all of his hard work, did he?

Dean stayed on the couch, post-orgasm, panting softly with his eyes closed. Sammy had definitely earned his present.

“Lie on the bed. Naked. Knees bent. Ass up. C’mon, Paris Hilton, quit lookin’ at yourself in the mirror. Do you want your present or not?” Dean told Sam after he had recovered. Sam stripped his clothes and lay on the bed, arms at his sides, ass in the air and face smushed on the sheets. He could hear Dean behind him, opening something and tossing the paper on the floor. He wondered what his present could be. A whip? Some handcuffs? A new porno? Some more skin mags?

Dean chuckled. Sam had no idea what was coming to him. Dean crouched on the ground near Sam’s ass and placed the present on the bed. He buried his face in it, licking and sucking on every available surface he could find. He needed Sam well lubricated for this next part. Sam was moaning in pleasure as Dean stuck his tongue further and further into Sam’s ass hole.

“Uhh… Dean… More. Please more. Please.” Sam panted through the sheets. Dean smiled slightly; all in good time, Sammy boy he thought. Dean stopped licking. He pulled his head up and picked up the curved object from the bed. Inspecting it, he decided what he would do. He began by trailing the curved end up and down Sam’s back. He knew this would drive Sam wild. He trailed it over the curve of his ass and tickled his feet. Then he stopped. He sucked and sucked on the straight end of the present and smacked his lips when he was finished.

Then he touched the tip of it to Sam’s anus. Sam moaned loudly as he realized this wasn’t Dean’s fingers. A fucking dildo, he got me a fucking dildo for Christmas he thought.

Dean began slowly inserting the candy cane shaped play toy into Sam’s ass and then taking it out even slower. Each time he went in he would go deeper and deeper, until it was as far as it would go and Sam was squirming beneath him, a layer of sweat covering his muscled body.

“Dean, please.” he breathed.

“One sec, Sammy. Bitches gotta wait their turn.” Dean chuckled.

“Jerk.” he heard Sam call as Dean went to the fridge to get another beer. He drank it in record time, not savoring the taste but instead savoring the image of his brother bent over on a motel bed with a candy cane dildo in his ass.

“Oh what a glorious sight. Makes me wish I had one of them cell phones with a camera.” Dean walked over to the bed and rested his empty beer bottle on Sam’s back.

“If this falls off, I’m stopping. For good.” Dean told Sam gruffly.

Sam was terrified. He can’t stay still to save his life, how does Dean expect him to not move?

Dean, of course, was only testing Sam. He would stop? Just because Sam couldn’t control his sensitivity? Come on. Totally not worth it. Dean wouldn’t stop if God himself asked him to.

Dean crouched down by the bed again. He slowly moved the candy cane in and out of Sam. He could literally feel Sam’s pain radiating off him while he couldn’t move. He was forced to stay still because of a beer bottle. Dean was inwardly chuckling.

Sam moaned appreciatively as Dean steadily kept pumping the candy cane. Dean quickened the pace and Sam gasped as the beer bottle fell to the ground. Luckily it did not crash, but Dean stopped, pulling the candy cane out with such force that Sam groaned in a mixture of pleasure and pain. He threw the dildo to the floor.

“What did I say about that beer bottle, Sammy?” Dean asked.

Sam didn’t say a word. He was too fearful of what Dean would say if he said the wrong thing.

Dean flipped Sam onto his back, legs and ass hanging off the bed. Dean tugged Sam’s legs apart and dove onto his cock, sucking and licking the head, the sides and deep-throating it

Sam was confused, but let this sudden wave of pleasure wash over him. Dean began fingering Sam’s anus, preparing it for the dildo again. While still sucking on Sam’s throbbing cock, Dean picked up the candy cane from the floor and slid it into Sam’s anus. Sam jerked forward, overcome by pleasure and pain as the semi-dry object entered him for a second time. Dean sucked and moaned on Sam’s dick as he twisted and pumped the candy cane in his ass. Sam’s hips rocked up and down, meeting Dean’s thrusts and creating a rhythm between the sucking and penetrating.

Dean quickened his pace, determined to get his sweaty, moaning brother off. Sam felt it in the bottom of his belly, and he called out Dean’s name as the rush of an orgasm rippled through him. He flung his hips forward, pushing the candy cane further into his ass and his cock further into Dean’s mouth. Dean swallowed every drop of Sam’s hot come and Sam’s hips fell and his breathing slowed. Dean slowed the pumping of the candy cane down and removed it from Sam. Sam’s chest rose and fell slower now, and Dean sucked on the end of the candy cane, savoring the taste of Sam. He stood up to lie down next to Sam on the bed.

Dean kissed his brother softly on the cheek. He turned and wrapped his arm around his brothers chest, holding onto his shoulder protectively. The brothers locked lips, gently letting their tongues explore each other’s mouths, feeling the ache in their bellies that the kiss provided. Their mouths melted into one another’s as they moved closer together, consumed by the tenderness of the kiss. Dean moved his head back, staring into his brother’s beautiful brown eyes.

“Did ya like your present, Sammy?” he whispered.

“You have no idea,” Sam breathed, eyes glistening darkly.

“Merry Christmas.” The boys whispered in unison. They got under the covers and fell asleep in each other’s arm, the tree still alight in the corner of the room, the TV on softly in the background and the candy cane laying on the floor of the motel room, still glistening slightly.


	5. Christmas and Conversation by blackelement7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author: blackelement7
> 
> Word Count: 6200
> 
> Spoilers: Season 8 plot points addressed here

It’s Christmas Eve. There’s a thin sprinkling of snow coming down from the sky, so sparse that it might be considered pathetic if not for the way the snowflakes glitter in the fading evening light as they float through the air and then disappear as soon as they touch the ground. A group of children is singing off-tune carols at the house three doors down, chaperoned by beaming parents who hold camcorders and digital cameras. Little icicle lights sway gently above the front door, and it’s so peaceful, so  _normal_ , that Sam’s throat goes tight and dry.

It’s like something out of a Lifetime movie, worlds away from chips and bottled drinks in a freezing cold motel room, and the only reason Sam knows anything about Lifetime movies—because really, the idea of Dad and Dean agreeing to watch a Christmas movie about  _taking time off to spend with family_ or  _trying to catch Santa_  is depressingly hilarious—is because when he was twelve he accidentally let it slip to Maddy Leroy in Pinesville, Louisiana, that he’d never seen one, and she was so horrified that she immediately dragged him home to watch every single Christmas movie her family owned, never mind that it was July and about a hundred degrees out.

And, well, he knows that Dean always did his best to make Christmas fun when they were growing up, but there’s only so much a teenager can do with a wad of cash meant to buy food for the next three weeks. It got a little better when Dean was old enough to drop out of school and get a job, but Sam’s chest still burned with envy every time his classmates came back to school after Christmas break and he had to listen to them bragging about brand new electronics and board games and puzzle sets.

Dean might have caved eventually—no, that’s not right. Dean  _would_  have caved eventually, would have bought Sam anything he wanted even if it meant working double shifts for a month and skipping lunch every day to save up the money, but they both knew that Dad would take one look and tell them to sell it, because there wasn’t enough room in the Impala and they needed the money for ammo.

So while Sam has seen white, perfect Christmases before, he’s always been on the outside looking in, wishing he could have that.

But now he’s on Amelia’s doorstep, because there’s a poltergeist in Tucson, Arizona, and he thought it would be nice to stop by and wish her a Merry Christmas on the way, and she’s got this look of surprise on her face—but it’s pleasant surprise, like she’s happy to see him—and she’s inviting him into the house that they used to share, and he thinks that maybe he can be part of this, just for a little while.

Her husband comes up behind her and wraps an arm around her waist, as if to remind Sam that the house belongs to Amelia and  _him_ , now, and it hurts a little to see them so happy together, to see Amelia so happy without him, but then he’s distracted by the awe-inspiring sight of the huge tree they’ve set up in the living room.

It’s massive.

“It’s even taller than you,” Amelia teases, poking him in the side. “Wider, too.”

“This is all muscle!” Sam protests, falling easily into the familiar banter. He keeps a wary eye on Don, but the other man catches his eye and shrugs, looking more amused than anything.

It probably helps that his arms are still wrapped around Amelia and she looks absolutely content to stay where she is.

Not only is the tree huge, it’s also covered in yards of silver tinsel and shiny, colored-glass balls. The very tip, which misses the ceiling by mere centimeters, is adorned with a softly-glowing golden star.

(Sam is kind of glad that they didn’t opt for an angel ornament, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to keep a straight face at the sight of an angel with an entire tree shoved up its—

He wonders if Castiel is going to come down and smite him any second now.)

“I came here to give you this,” he says to distract himself from that dangerous train of thought. He holds out a little paper bag padded with tissue paper and tries not to wince as Don’s eyes narrow.

It’s just a set of dog-shaped salt-and-pepper shakers, something harmless that both Amelia and Don can use. Sam doesn’t think there’s any way for it to be taken as a romantic gift or anything.

And if the salt shaker happens to hold a lot more than the pepper shaker does, well, it’s not like anyone can tell.

Don places the bag in Amelia’s hands and keeps his arms firmly around her as she opens it. When the shakers come into view, he relaxes and gives Sam a sheepish grin.

Sam shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” Amelia says, fingertips stroking the top of the salt-shaker dog’s head. “I’ve…” She bites her lip. “I’ve got something for you, too. Remind me to give it to you before you leave. You know what, Riot will want to see you. I’ll go let him in, and I’ll get you some eggnog while I’m in the kitchen.” She a kiss to Don’s jaw and slips out of his hold.

With a guilty start, Sam remembers that Dean is still outside in the Impala, waiting for him to finish up so that they can get back on the road.

Originally, Dean didn’t even want to come here, but Sam wore him down, and after a very short-lived shouting match, he agreed to drive them to Kermit.

He’s probably happy as a clam out there, with the car’s heat going and AC/DC blasting out of the speakers at full volume, Sam tries to convince himself. Maybe he’ll call  _Benny_  so that he can talk to someone who’s  _never let him down_.

Bitterness coats Sam’s tongue at the memory of that argument. Dean went to Hell for him, once, and he wrestled Lucifer into the Cage for Dean, once. Now they can’t even trust each other to watch their backs on hunts, not one hundred percent. Dean would rather trust a  _vampire_  than the brother he practically raised.

Merry fucking Christmas.

But he can’t help but remember that, while Dean always made sure that his little brother got  _something_  for Christmas, Sam can count on his fingers the number of years that he got anything for Dean.

And the present he gave to Dean the year that he figured out what Dad was actually doing while he was gone, the one present that Dean cherished for so long until Sam screwed everything up—it wasn’t even meant for Dean in the first place.

Sam swallows, suddenly feeling sick. He’s always been so busy chasing after a normal Christmas that he never stopped to think about Dean, doing his best for a little brat of a brother who never thought it was enough.

When is the last time Dean had a decent Christmas? With Lisa and Ben, while Sam was gone and/or soulless? That spur-of-the-moment celebration they had right before Dean went to Hell five years ago? Or maybe when he was three, before Sam was born and everything fell apart?

“I really should go,” Sam begins, but Amelia won’t hear of it.

“It’s fine,” she says, totally misinterpreting the apprehension in his voice. “I didn’t make the eggnog. It’s safe to drink, I promise.”

“No, I really have to—”

“Dad’s the one who made it,” Amelia continues, and as if on cue, Stan Thompson comes out of the kitchen.

“Amelia? I heard the front door open. Who—”

He stops short at the sight of Sam. Before anyone else can move a muscle, Stan’s face hardens and he grabs his daughter, pushing her forcefully behind him.

Don barks out Stan’s name, face creased in indignation, but he stops short when Stan pulls a Glock out of nowhere and cocks it.

It’s Christmas Eve, and there’s a gun pointed at Sam’s face.

For a long moment, no one moves. Stan’s hand is steady as he keeps the gun pointed at Sam. Sam slowly raises his hands in surrender, sweat beading at the back of his neck as he tries to figure out what’s going on.

Shapeshifter? Skinwalker? Leviathan? Demon?

He’s about to mutter a  _Christo_  when Stan speaks up. The words that come out of his mouth make everything crystal clear.

“According to the FBI, you’re supposed to be dead, Sam Winchester.”

He’s human. A very well-connected human who stuck his nose where it didn’t belong, but just human all the same. There’s nothing supernatural about this situation, and that’s what hurts the most.

Even without demons and monsters to ruin the day, Sam Winchester is never going to have a normal Christmas. (Jess never knew that he spent winter break on his own, but that was his own fault, for feeling the need to sit by the phone and wait, hoping and fearing that Dean or Dad might call.)

“Dad, what are you talking about?” Amelia demands from behind her father. Sensible woman that she is, she stays where Stan put her, though Sam can’t tell whether it’s because she believes what her father is saying, or because she doesn’t want to provoke him into shooting Sam.

“I’ve got a buddy who works for Homeland Security,” Stan tells Sam.

Sam isn’t stupid enough to close his eyes in exasperation, but he lets out a sigh, knowing what comes next.

“You had him look me up,” he says softly.

Stan doesn’t waver. He doesn’t look the least bit sheepish, either. “Of course I did! Like I was going to let my daughter live with a complete stranger who had those eyes. You’ve got this look, like you’ve gone through Hell.”

Sam laughs tiredly to himself. If only he knew.

“Don has the same eyes, you know, only his aren’t as bad as yours.” At Stan’s words, Amelia peers over her father’s shoulder to look at Don, who freezes like a deer in the headlights.

Sam doesn’t need to look. He’s seen it enough, every time he glances into a mirror or meets Dean’s gaze.

“You have the eyes of a dead soldier,” Stan goes on. “Like you’ve been on the battlefield too long.”

God, that’s an understatement.

“You move like a soldier, but you’ve never served in the military. Seems suspicious, don’t you think? So of course I looked you up.”

“It’s not true,” Sam says, knowing with certainty that Stan will never believe him. “None of it’s true.”

Sure enough, the man scoffs. “Really? It’s all lies? So you didn’t take a bank full of hostages in Milwaukee?”

Amelia gasps, taking a step backwards.

“And the massacre in that bank in Jericho?” Stan presses. “The one in Black Water Ridge? Lake Manitoc? Ankeny? You’re going to deny all of those? What about that boy in the diner in St Louis—you made him take a  _video_  as you killed everyone else, and then you killed him, too!”

Amelia lets out a strangled sob when Sam doesn’t say anything, and Don ducks past Sam and Stan into the kitchen, where he gathers his wife up and holds her close.

Sam’s chest aches at the sight of them.

Dean was right. He should never have come back here. He ruins everything he touches, and he should have known that Christmas would be no different.

“Look, just put down the gun and I promise you’ll never see me again,” he tries, but Stan only snorts and hefts the gun, fingers tightening around the grip.

“Like I’d let a wanted criminal just walk out of my house to terrorize the rest of the world,” the older man spits, eyes narrowed.

“The FBI doesn’t waste its time looking for dead guys,” says an unexpected voice, and suddenly Dean is standing in the hallway, hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket.

Stan shifts so that he can keep both Winchesters in his range of vision, and both he and Don move so that they’re shielding Amelia from sight. Not because she’s a woman—though maybe because she’s their wife or daughter—but because she’s a civilian and they’re both ex-military.

Dean’s posture is loose and relaxed and he grins easily, but Sam knows his brother, and he can see the tension in every one of Dean’s muscles, ready for action at the slightest hint of danger.

Well, more danger than they’re already in.

“Clearly you’re not dead,” Stan grits out, gun switching back and forth between Sam and Dean.

Dean makes it easier for him by slowly padding closer and closer to where Sam is standing, a slow, sinuous grace to his step that screams danger and encourages Stan to keep the gun pointed at him. Away from Sam. It would work a lot better if he wasn’t  _approaching_ Sam. He shrugs. “The FBI doesn’t know that.”

“They will soon enough,” Stan promises.

“They won’t care about Sam,” Dean tosses out nonchalantly, taking another step. “I’m the one who pulled him into all this, but he’s a good kid.”

Sam tries to edge away from Dean, ignoring the look of hurt that flashes across his brother’s face, but Stan’s finger twitches and Sam settles back into place, hands still in the air.

“Nice try,” Stan scowls, “but there’s video footage of Sam helping you kill people.”

“Exactly!  _Helping_  me. I forced him into it—threatened him, even. All he ever wanted to do was go to college and be a lawyer. Stanford, remember? Sam’s a good kid. Just let him go.”

Damn it, what the hell is Dean thinking? Standing next to Sam will give Stan an easy target. It would be so much smarter to stand on opposite sides of the room, so that Stan would have to divide his attention between the two of them.

Normally they’d do that, and then one of them would jump Stan as soon as he turned his focus away, but Don has stepped away from Amelia and is hovering watchfully at Stan’s side. His fists are clenched and he clearly still remembers Afghanistan. If one of the Winchesters tries to wrestle the gun away from Stan, he’ll have to get through Don first.

Dean has reached Sam, now, and in one smooth motion, he slips two fingers into the waistband of Sam’s jeans and tugs him backwards, stepping easily in front of his brother.

Puts himself between Sam and the gun.

“Sammy, you okay?” he tosses gruffly over his shoulder.

Sam licks his lips. It takes two tries before he can get out, “Y-yeah. Fine. Dean, what are you—”

In that instant, Sam can  _see_  the tension bleed out of Dean’s shoulders, as if the only thing about this situation that had him worried was the fact that Sam was in danger.

“Shut up, Sammy.”

Sam wants to laugh, or cry, or both, because even though he’s a good four inches taller than Dean, Dean’s still trying to protect him, like he’s still the chubby little kid Dean used to make sandwiches for all those years ago.

And somehow, it feels…  _right_. They’re still in danger, sure, but that’s nothing new.

It’s like coming home, Sam thinks, to realize that Dean is willing to die to protect him. He’s staring at the back of Dean’s head, at the worn leather jacket stretched across Dean’s broad shoulders, and suddenly all he wants is to bury his face in Dean’s chest and block out the rest of the world.

To let Dean shelter him from everything, the way he used to do when Sam had nightmares about Dad dying on the job, or when they had to pack up and move, and Sam had to leave his new friends behind—or even a few years ago, when Lucifer took up residence in Sam’s head and Sam couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t, and the only thing keeping him sane was Dean’s presence.

Maybe that’s a selfish wish, to make Dean shoulder all the responsibility, but Sam is the consummate younger sibling, and Dean’s always been there for him to the best of his ability.

And Sam could always count on him, at least until recently. Until the final confrontation with Dick blew up in their faces and Sam was left on his own, Bobby dead and Cas gone and Dean somewhere Sam couldn’t follow. And then afterwards, when Dean came back from Purgatory and brought  _Benny_  with him as a replacement for Sam, a brother who wouldn’t disappoint him.

“Dean,” he whispers, and grabs a fistful of Dean’s jacket.

“What, Sammy?” Dean doesn’t take his eyes off Stan and the others, but the fingers still hooked in Sam’s jeans wiggle inquiringly, brushing against the skin of Sam’s hip. When Sam doesn’t answer, the fingers move more insistently.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam says, letting his forehead fall onto the nape of Dean’s neck. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, trusting Dean to keep both of them safe. He’s just so  _tired_  of it all—the arguments, the mistrust between them, the secrets they’ve been hiding from each other.

It’s Christmas, and he doesn’t want to keep fighting with his brother.

“Sammy?” Dean’s fingers withdraw from Sam’s waistband, and Sam mourns the contact for a few short seconds, before the back of Dean’s hand is suddenly pressed against his forehead.

He recognizes the gesture from countless childhood illnesses.

“I’m not sick!” he protests as Dean turns around, frowning at him and peering into his eyes.

“Well, you don’t have a fever,” Dean mutters once he’s felt Sam’s cheeks and the back of his neck, and then he busies himself checking Sam’s pulse.

His back is turned to Stan and the gun, as if the threat no longer registers now that there’s a possibility that Sam’s sick, and Sam realizes with a jolt of horror that Dean doesn’t care what happens to him as long as Sam’s okay.

That maybe he would rather be dead, or still in Purgatory, if it meant Sam would be living a normal life while he was gone.

God, he’s even willing to confess to everything they’ve ever been accused of so that Sam’s name can be cleared. Earlier it sounded like he was one step away from taking the blame for Jess’s death, and all because Sam said he wanted to go back to school.

Sam doesn’t deserve a brother like Dean, and isn’t that what Dean’s been saying to him all this time? That what Dean needs is a brother who won’t let him down, a brother who wouldn’t have trusted a demon and started the Apocalypse, who wouldn’t have given up looking for him when he disappeared to Purgatory.

But Sam—Sam is selfish. He knows that he doesn’t deserve Dean, but he  _wants_  Dean. Dean was always there when he was growing up, even sent “anonymous scholarships” to help pay for Sam’s books at Stanford (as if Sam couldn’t figure it out; the bills were always grubby and smelled like beer, and one time there was even a blood splatter), and Sam just wouldn’t know what to do without Dean in his life.

_Didn’t_  know what to do when Dean actually disappeared.

And it hurts to know that Dean doesn’t understand how much Sam needs him. That Dean thinks he spent the last year playing house with Amelia, perfectly fine and happy without him. That Dean thinks he didn’t get through last year one day at a time, blind terror clawing at his brain every time he looked up and remembered that Dean wasn’t there, wanting to die but determined to live because  _that’s what Dean would have wanted._

That Dean thinks he’s expendable, that Sam is somehow worth more than him, or even as much as him.

“Dean,” he says again, trying to make Dean understand what he’s feeling by pushing the emotions through his skin by dint of sheer force, pressing his cheek insistently against Dean’s fingers.

Worry has cut a deep furrow between Dean’s eyebrows.

“All right, that’s it. We’re leaving. My baby’s been running out in the cold since I came in, anyways, and I don’t want anything happening to her. And my  _other_  baby isn’t making a whole lot of sense.” Dean slaps Sam’s chest lightly and turns back around to face Stan, whose arms are unsteady now from the effort of holding the gun up for so long.

“You’re not going any—”

“Look,” Dean growls, chest expanding. Suddenly, he looks twice as intimidating as he did when he came into the house, and Stan’s face goes pale. “We’re leaving. We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. I don’t want to hurt anyone, okay? And you don’t want to fire that gun.”

“Try me,” Stan snarls, but Dean looks past him to where Amelia is plastered against Don’s back. The way he holds himself stays the same, but his voice is gentler when he speaks to her. It’s the kind of tone he uses when he’s speaking to spooked civilians.

“You lived with Sam for almost a year,” Dean says to her, ignoring the furious growl from her husband. “You know what a nice guy he is.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she replies shakily, pushing Don aside so that she can get a better look at Dean. “I hear Ted Bundy was a pretty nice guy too.”

And, okay, that kind of hurts, but at least she’s being smart.

Something like respect flashes across Dean’s face at her daring, and Sam feels a bubble of pride in his chest. Like he needs Dean’s approval of the girls he dates, like he’s still fourteen.

“Sammy’s a good kid,” Dean says, for the third time that night. “You must have liked him, if you moved into a house with him. Right?” When Amelia only presses her lips together, he goes on. “If you ever felt any kind of affection for him, you’ll talk your dad out of shooting me while I get my brother somewhere safe. I swear you’ll never see either of us ever again.”

“Don’t you talk to her!” Stan says fiercely, jerking the gun up to point directly at Dean’s face instead of his previous target on Dean’s chest.

Dean ignores him, wrapping a hand around Sam’s bicep and leading him towards the front door, all the while keeping his body between Sam and the gun. “Sam isn’t a murderer,” he says, pushing Sam forward, inch by inch. “Look at me, Amelia, and tell me I’m lying.”

“Stop right there!” Stan orders.

Dean shrugs, but he and Sam can both hear the icy anger in Stan’s voice growing, and he pushes Sam a little faster, hurrying towards the door. “Sorry, gotta take care of my pain in the ass little brother.”

Sam knows that Dean only says that to mess with Stan’s head, but it still warms him to hear Dean refer to him so affectionately, not to mention openly acknowledge Sam as his brother.

“I’m warning you!”

Stan’s tone of voice sets off alarms in Sam’s mind—at this point, he is  _very_  likely to pull the trigger—and Sam considers bolting for the door. Only, that would leave Dean vulnerable for a bullet, and no. That’s just not going to happen.

“Dad!” Amelia jolts forward, not daring to reach for the gun. Don grips her shoulders, clearly wishing that Stan would just shoot, but Amelia ducks his hands and continues to plead with her father. “You can’t just shoot them! You’re not even supposed to have that gun!”

“They’re wanted criminals!” Stan retorts, hands shaking now. It’s a good thing Amelia knows better than to put herself in front of the gun; Stan’s liable to shoot by accident if someone doesn’t intervene soon.

“We’re officially dead. And your buddy in Homeland Security could probably lose his job for giving you confidential information,” Dean points out smugly as he nudges Sam in front of him, mere yards from the front door. Sam can feel him turn around every few milliseconds, keeping an eye on Stan over his shoulder as he goes.

“It might be worth it, to rid the world of murderers like you,” Stan spits, mouth twisting unpleasantly.

The Winchesters have faced plenty of people who hate them, especially on cases where they fail or arrive too late to save loved ones, but knowing that Stan wants them both dead even though they haven’t  _done_  anything to him—Sam left his daughter alone when her husband came back, for crying out loud!—is like a blow to the gut.

And Sam can’t help hating Dad just a little for forcing them down this path, where an ordinary visit to an ex-girlfriend is likely to turn into a hostage situation.

“Dad,” Amelia says quietly, finally extending a hand and setting it lightly on Stan’s wrist. Her fingers are trembling, Sam can see it from this distance, but she doesn’t hesitate. She looks at him with those big brown eyes and nods once, and he tries to summon a smile for her. He doesn’t think he succeeds.

Dean’s grip tightens on Sam’s arm as Sam reaches for the latch on the door. Behind them, there is a deadly silence.

“Dad,” Amelia says again, and Sam doesn’t look back, letting the piece of metal hit the doorframe. “Dad, please. It’s not worth it.”

Sam reaches for the doorknob, feeling Dean press up against his back. Fuck, he forgot about the security chain.

Why is there even a security chain on the door?

Oh, right. He’s the one who insisted on it, because he’s a paranoid bastard. As if a security chain could stop a demon, or an angel, or a Leviathan. Or even a Wendigo.

“Amelia, let go!” Stan’s voice cracks through the room like a shot, but Amelia refuses to relent.

“Dad,  _please!_ ”

Sam fumbles with the doorknob and the security chain at the same time, praying that he can get the door open before Stan manages to shoot.

“Dad!” Amelia cries. “It’s Christmas.  _Please_.”

There’s silence as Sam finally gets the door open, and he doesn’t wait to hear Stan’s final decision. As soon as the cold air hits his face, he leaps outside, dragging Dean behind him. They pile into the Impala and Dean pulls out of the driveway before the house’s front door has even slammed shut.

Dean drives steadily away from Kermit, speeding past the occasional car at almost thirty miles per hour above the speed limit. His jaw is tight, and he doesn’t make a sound.

Sam doesn’t think they’re even pointed towards Tucson, but he sure as hell isn’t going to point that out now.

Half an hour later, Dean still hasn’t said anything. He hasn’t even put any music on, not since the tape ran out and the last strains of Back in Black faded away.

Sam’s heart is pounding. Is this it? Has Dean reached his limit? At any moment now, he’s going to throw Sam out and tell him to start walking. It’s no more than Sam deserves, really, for all those times he walked away from Dean of his own accord.

He clears his throat and watches Dean very pointedly not react to the sound.

“Look,” he says hesitantly, looking down at his lap. “If you want to drop me off at the next gas station, I can—”

Without warning, Dean swerves down a half-hidden path that’s half-covered with trees and brings the car to a halt as soon as the road disappears from sight. Then, without a word, he gets out and rounds the car to the passenger side, where he pulls open Sam’s door and fists his hand in the front of Sam’s shirt.

He jerks Sam out of the car, and Sam barely has time to wonder if Dean doesn’t even have the patience to drive him to a gas station before he finds himself slammed up against the side of the car.

Dean uses his body weight to pin him there, breathing heavily as he grabs a handful of Sam’s hair and yanks brutally at it.

Sam cries out, trying to fight his brother off, but Dean simply pulls harder in retaliation. He doesn’t stop until Sam goes still, shivering quietly as he tries to figure out what Dean wants. The metal of the car is cold against his back, but Dean is like a furnace pressed up against his front.

“Why are you so  _stupid_ , Sammy?” Dean snaps. He still sounds angry, but his fingers have released Sam’s hair and are instead petting at the sore spots on Sam’s scalp, as if in apology. He presses his cheek against Sam’s neck, his other hand coming up to rest on Sam’s chest, right above his heart.

 “Dean,” Sam says weakly, dazed and confused but overjoyed to note that Dean still cares enough to call him Sammy. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Shut  _up_ ,” Dean growls, pounding the side of his fist into Sam’s chest in reprimand. “You’re so  _stupid_. How the hell can you think, even for a minute, that I’m just going to leave you at a fucking  _gas station?_ ”

That just makes Sam angry. As if Dean doesn’t know the answer to his own question.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Sam challenges softly, pressing his chin into the soft spikes of Dean’s hair. “I know I’m a pain in the ass to watch out for, and you’ve got—You don’t need me.”

Dean snorts, warm breath puffing over the skin of Sam’s neck. “You being a pain in the ass is one thing that’ll never change,” he grumbles. He completely sidesteps the question, but he also ignores Sam’s almost-misstep of mentioning Benny, so Sam lets it go. They’ll have to talk it out sooner or later, but this isn’t the time or place.

Instead, Sam rolls his eyes. “Bite me,” he says out of habit, and then jerks when a sharp pain flares up just under his collarbone. “You jerk, you actually bit me!”

“You said to,” Dean points out smugly, but he runs a finger over the bite mark, stroking soothingly. “Why the hell did you use your real name anyways? You know it’s still in the FBI files.”

Sam sighs, knowing that they’ve dodged one tricky topic only to land smack in the middle of another. “I didn’t want to live the rest of my life hiding behind a lie,” he answers uncomfortably, breathing in the scent of Dean’s hair gel.

It shouldn’t be comforting, but somehow, it is. Like the smell of motel rooms and Spaghetti-Os and cheap Chinese food and the leather seats of the Impala, all things that make him think of Dean and home.

He feels Dean purse his lips against his throat. “You were planning on going back to school with your real name, too, weren’t you.” It isn’t a question.

Sam shifts uneasily. “I just—”

“Wanted a normal life, I know,” Dean interrupts, and Sam can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “But I’m sorry, dude, you’re never going to have that.”

And damn it, Sam  _knows_  it’s true. But that doesn’t stop him from asking angrily, “Why not?” Because he’s Sam Winchester, and it’s his job to ask impossible questions.

Dean’s traditional answer is  _Because_ , or  _Because Dad said so_ , so Sam isn’t at all prepared for the hand playing with his hair to cup the back of his head and force him down so that Dean can smash his lips savagely against Sam’s.

Teeth clash and their noses bump and Dean is  _everywhere_ , biting Sam’s lips and nipping at his tongue and tracing his molars and sucking and licking and making obscene sounds, and it’s glorious. After a brief moment of confusion, Sam gives in and goes with it.

His arms snake around Dean’s back, dragging his brother in until they’re pressed impossibly close, and then he tries to bring Dean closer. Dean kicks his feet apart so that he can wedge a leg between Sam’s, so that their bodies are flush against each other from shoulder to knee. The line of contact between them burns like a brand through their clothing, and it drives them both deeper into frantic, desperate kisses.

Sam’s lungs are burning with the need for oxygen when Dean finally pulls back, lips kiss-swollen and coated with saliva. There’s a little droplet of blood welling up from where Sam accidentally bit too hard.

Dean wipes his mouth off on his sleeve and won’t quite meet Sam’s eyes.

“That’s why,” he says. He ruffles Sam’s hair once, the way he used to do when he was still taller than Sam, and then he goes around the car and gets back into his seat.

Sam doesn’t know what to do, so he gets back in too.

Dean doesn’t start the car up again, just sits there with his hands on the wheel.

“I’m sorry,” he says at last, gripping the wheel so tightly that his knuckles go white. “I know you want normal. But I’m not going to let you go. I  _can’t_  let you go. You say the word and I’ll never touch you again, but I’m not letting you go where I can’t keep an eye on you.”

That’s good, because Sam’s not going to let Dean go either. Ever.

He says as much to Dean, who snorts disbelievingly but lets go of the steering wheel. He doesn’t think Sam’s telling the truth, but he doesn’t protest the lie. And that’s just not acceptable.

So Sam shows him. Grabs him by the front of his jacket and hauls him in. Kisses him and kisses him until he goes soft and pliant, until he’s willing to  _listen_  to what Sam has to say.

This is really a good way to have a serious conversation, Sam thinks. They should have all their conversations like this. He tucks it away in the back of his mind for the next time they try to hash out their problems.

“I’m. Not. Leaving,” he tells Dean, running his thumb along the jut of Dean’s lower lip. “Maybe it’s messed up, and maybe we’re unhealthily codependent, but I’m not leaving anymore, okay? You and me, from now on. Even if…” He swallows. “Even if we don’t trust each other, we’re going to stick together. And sooner or later, we’ll work things out.”

“It’s not that easy,” Dean rasps, but he settles into the crook of Sam’s shoulder like an oversized cat.

“We’ll make it that simple,” Sam promises, and for once he believes what he’s saying. That’s always been the Winchesters’ weakness, oversimplifying everything and trying to make impossible plans work, but the world hasn’t ended yet, so they must be doing  _something_  right.

The next time one of them goes to Hell—because they’re trying to close the gates of Hell, and inevitably something will go wrong—the other will follow right behind him. And then they’ll claw their way back out, because there’s no plane of existence that can stop the Winchesters when they’re together.

With that cheery thought, Sam reaches over to turn the ignition on. As the car rumbles back to life, he slaps Dean’s thigh.

“So, are we ready to get back on the road, or do you want to sit here and cuddle some more?”

Honestly, he wouldn’t mind spending the night here if it means Dean will stay right where he is, but as expected, Dean jackknifes up into a sitting position with a look of distaste on his face.

“Cuddle—fucking—no!” he sputters. “No chick flick moments, Sammy! Fuck, you ambushed me! No, we’re going to drive into New Mexico, and then we’re going to find a motel. And then we’re going to sleep. And then tomorrow, we’ll drive the rest of the way and gank that poltergeist in Tucson. In a manly fashion. Without cuddling.” He nods determinedly.

“No cuddling?” Sam pouts exaggerated, just to see the look on Dean’s face.

To his surprise, Dean eyes him sideways and then grumbles, “Maybe if you play your cards right.” And then he shuts up, face going as red as Sam has ever seen it.

“Aw, admit it. You  _like_  cuddling.” 

Dean’s lips twitch. “Shut up, bitch.”

Sam grins widely, feeling like he’s leaving an immense weight behind him as they pull back onto the road. “Make me, jerk.”

Dean slips a new tape into the player and Metallica bursts from the speakers. Secure in the knowledge that his brother loves him, Sam falls asleep to the sound of his childhood lullabies.


	6. Cold Comfort Christmas by nyxduck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author: nyxsduck
> 
> Word Count: 5700
> 
> Summary: This is set immediately after episode 8.09 – Citizen Fang  
> Author's notes: This is set immediately after episode 8.09 – Citzen Fang. Which I haven’t actually seen yet, so forgive any inconsistencies. Also I have never been to the USA, so ditto the inconsistencies.

It took Dean the better part of eight days to finally track Sam down. He had taken the I-49 out of Louisiana as soon as he finished up with Benny. Benny would be staying with Elizabeth for a while, at least until after Christmas. He wanted to spend this time with family, even if that family was unaware of their connection. Dean could understand that. 

Dean decided that once he crossed over into Texas, he’d start taking the smaller back roads, trying to figure out where he was going. But until he was in Texas, he’d use the bigger I-49 to get him there as quickly as possible. He would drive the 10 or so hours straight to Kermit and would pick up Sam’s trail from there. Dean didn’t stop driving until he was through Kermit and felt like he had made at least a dent in the distance between them. He pulled over and parked the Impala well off the road so he could get a couple of hours of shut eye before he started looking for Sam.

It seemed Dean’s mind had other plans though, wandering in and out of thoughts and memories of Sam. When Sam had hung up on him, after Dean had admitted to sending Sam a false SOS text from Amelia, Dean knew he had broken away another small chip in their already crumbling relationship. But it had started long before then. Possibly even on the first day he had seen Sam again after a year of being without him, of not knowing if he was even alive. Sam’s admission that he had not looked for him at all during the year that Dean had been fighting a small war in Purgatory had felt like a punch to the gut. At first he was not even sure that he believed Sam. Of course Sam looked for him, right? Of course he did. That’s what they did. They wished the other would go on without them, always knowing that, in reality, they would die before give up on each other. It was that deep, abiding love – he had thrown that phrase at Sam that first day, hiding his true feelings behind the feigned sarcasm – that formed the foundation for their twisted, co-dependent, would-rather-die-than-live-without-you relationship.

Dean thought back to the conversation he had had with Sam before he left to chase after Benny with Martin. He hadn’t meant to say what he did and he would never forget the look on Sam’s face.

“Every relationship I have ever had has gone to crap at some point. But the one thing I can say about Benny? – he has never let me down.” 

He’d meant to vouch for Benny, make Sam see how much he trusted the man. Not doubt Dean’s faith in him. In Sam! Sure, Dean was hurt that Sam hadn’t looked for him and sure, maybe his faith had been shaken, but deep down Dean knew. It was Sam. Sam. Sam always had his back. From the first day he was old enough to stand up for Dean, that was all he had ever done. Stood up for Dean, supported Dean, looked out for Dean. It wasn’t Sam’s job – not like it was Dean’s job to look after Sam – but he did it. Sam always did it. And Dean always counted on that, always knew it. 

“Huh.” Sams’s face. Like Dean had just spat on him or something. “Well, good on you, Dean. Must feel great, finally finding someone you can trust after all these years.”

Sam had sneered. He had actually sneered. Dean had wanted to take it back immediately. For a brief moment he couldn’t look Sam in the eye, had to look down, to the side. He’d wanted to shout “NO! No Sammy, that’s not what I meant. I trust you Sammy, I trust YOU.” He’d wanted to fix it. But at that point he really hadn’t known how, and Martin was standing right there and… In the end Dean bit his lip, nodded his head and accepted that he had once again wounded his little brother. He had never meant to. But once again, he’d screwed it up.

Dean must have finally drifted off to sleep, because when he woke up the sun was streaming in through the Impala’s closed windows, and his cheek was stuck painfully to the leather upholstery of the seat with sweat and drool. After unfolding himself out of the car, straightening all the cricks in his spine and going for a long overdue piss, he was finally ready to get back on the road and find Sam. Dean tried to get into Sam’s headspace, to figure out where he would go. He knew that Sam would drive in the direction that would take him as far away from Dean as he could get. Sam felt betrayed, and Dean knew from experience – god, too much experience – that when he hurt Sam, Sam fled. Dean figured Sam would be heading northwest, in the complete opposite direction of Louisiana. This theory was confirmed by the last location he had for Sam. Dean had switched the GPS on in Sam’s phone when he had programmed his burner phone’s number in as Amelia’s, but Sam had either turned the GPS off or scrapped the phone at least five hours ago. Dean reckoned the phone was long gone, possibly in pieces, as every time he tried to call he got a monotone voice saying the number did not exist. The last confirmed location Dean had for Sam was Roswell, New Mexico. Dean had to chuckle at the irony.

Dean had no sure plan in mind when he left Kermit, headed for Roswell, following Sam’s general direction. He knew Sam was trying to get far away from him. He knew Sam was feeling betrayed and vulnerable. He had checked in at Amelia’s address and had seen her with some other guy, so Dean assumed things had gone badly when Sam showed up after the fake SOS. Sam was withdrawing and going into hiding. He would be travelling back roads, more out of habit than anything else, and he would keep moving, always in the direction he thought would get him further away from Dean. He would only stop at small towns, but he wouldstop. Dean knew Sam needed to sleep in a bed, at least every few days, as his stupidly long body was just not made for sleeping in cars. Dean smiled slightly at that thought. So basically, all Dean could think to do was to keep going, moving in a more or less northerly direction, keeping to back roads and backwater towns. He followed his gut and when his gut said stop, Dean stopped. More often than not his gut was right, and by following their age old, ingrained routines, he found where Sam had stayed the previous night or two before. But he was always too late. Sam had already left by the time Dean got there. Every. Damn. Time.

By the time Dean crossed over the state line into Colorado he was really starting to get worried that the trail was getting cold. Too cold. The last few motels he’d asked at hadn’t seen anyone matching Sam’s description in the last few days. Dean could feel a small coil of panic begin to unwind in his belly. He had not been without Sam for this long since returning from Purgatory. Sure he went off to help Benny a few weeks back, but that had just been for a day or so, and he had Benny with him. And Sam was taking his calls then. Now he was alone, with no way of reaching his little brother, and Dean was reminded forcibly of his first few weeks in Purgatory. Utterly and unalterably alone, fighting monsters he couldn’t even always see. He felt like he was back there, fighting an invisible monster, unable to find Sam and knowing that deep down, he was the cause of it all.

It had been just over 24 hours since he had left the small town of Mancos, with no new leads as to where Sam could be, and Dean was running out of ideas. It was night and all Dean could see was the asphalt passing under him in the beam of the Impala’s headlights. He knew he was in open country. The sky was so big, the night was so black, and the road seemed so long. He was just considering pulling off, before he totaled the Impala when he passed out from exhaustion, when he passed a sign for the next podunk town. Rocky Ford. 

Something tugged at Dean. If Sam and he weren’t at a rocky crossing point in their relationship then he didn’t even know. Taking it as a sign, Dean pushed on until he crossed the town limits, the white obelisk stating proudly, “Welcome to Rocky Ford.” Dean pulled over and opened his phone’s browser looking for motels in the small town. Ordinarily Dean would have picked up a Yellow Pages, found the first motel listed, gone straight there and asked for ‘Jim Rockford’. Sam and Dean had perfected their ‘what to do in case of separation’ technique years ago, and this had been their standard operation for so long… But now, with a year apart and a hundred feelings of betrayal between them, Dean knew he couldn’t rely on any of their old rules. However he still hoped that he knew Sam well enough that he would be able recognize some clue pointing him towards his brother.

The browser listed three motels within Rocky Ford, and Dean started driving toward the one which he thought Sam would be most likely to pick. It was the smallest and the cheapest and off any main roads. Although Dean seriously doubted any of the roads in Rocky Ford could be described as ‘main’. 

Swinging the Impala into the parking lot of the Casa Cantaloupe Motel (he couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the name), Dean noticed the green ‘Vacancy’ sign was flashing sporadically and missing the two middle letters, so it read ‘Va ncy’. Great, he thought, very fucking va’ncy. Another quality establishment. He opened the Impala’s door and stepped out, taking a lungful of late night, country air. A feeling of hesitant ease fell over him. He’s here, he thought. Sammy’s here. Dean walked into the dingy reception office, where he found the counter unmanned. He rang the bell next to the visitor’s book, and shuddered when he heard a gasp, a ‘fuck’ and the clear sound of a zipper zipping coming from the other side of the door situated behind the counter. A greasy looking man, probably in his fifties, stepped around the door and up to the counter, not-so-surreptitiously wiping his hands on his not-so-clean, shabby jeans. Another shudder ran through Dean. The man looked Dean up and down and lifted one greasy eyebrow.

“I’m looking for someone,” Dean said. “Tall dude, hair all over the place? He would’ve checked in a day or two ago?”

“Do you have a name for this ‘dude’?” the man drawled back at Dean, lazily sucking on his teeth as a type of punctuation for his question.

“Um…” Dean hesitated. Sam would never use his real name, but the list of possible aliases was endless. “Here’s the thing,” Dean tried. “It’s my cousin. His wife is looking for him. Guy got drunk a few nights ago, and left her after they had some big fucking fall out.” Greaser, as Dean was already calling him in his mind, quirked another greasy eyebrow. “Now, we’re just worried about… Bobby-John,” Dean continued. “He sometimes gets it into his head to take off and play hide ‘n seek like some giant goddamned kid. He never uses his real name, always… um… Smith or Jones… Or some rock star alias…? Anything like that on the books?” 

Greaser sighed and shrugged his shoulders, reached beneath the counter and dropped the check-in book down in front of Dean. “See for yourself, man.” 

Dean was careful to avoid touching the book where Greaser’s hands had been, but at the last page, he saw it. Immediately. “There, that’s him,” Dean practically huffed in relief. Greaser took the book from Dean – once again Dean avoided touching his hands – and looked to where Dean was pointing.

“Bruce Hornsby? Who the fuck is that, man? No rock star I’ve ever heard of.”

No, Dean thought. You wouldn’t have. He just shrugged and asked Greaser if Bruce Hornsby had checked out and if not, what his room number was. Greaser looked Dean up and down once more, making Dean feel the intense need for a shower, shrugged again, and told him, “One one eight, man. Hasn’t left his room since he checked in two days ago. Won’t even let fucking housekeeping in. Too late now, though. It’s the twenty fourth. Ain’t no more housekeeping till after Christmas, man.” 

Dean had started to head out, but stopped at these words. “It’s the twenty fourth?” he asked. “Christmas Eve?”

“Um, yeah. You strung out man?” Greaser smirked. Dean just shook his head and continued out the door. 

“You tell Bobby-John or Bruce or whatever the fuck his name is that he better not have fucked up that room! No housekeeping till after Christmas!” Greaser yelled after him. Dean shuddered one last time, ducking back into the Impala so he could park it, and go find room 118.

Dean quickly found the room on the left and pulled up, parking right in front of it. Turning the headlights off, he sat in the car for a while, wondering what his next move should be. “Well, good on you, Dean. Must feel great finally finding someone you can trust after all these years.” As if it were on a loop in his fucking mind. Dean shook his head once more, trying to clear the memory from his brain.

Eventually it just got too fucking cold to stay in the car, so Dean got out, and made his way to the muddy brown door with 1-1-8 in cheap plastic numbering on it. He knocked on the door, something he could hardly ever remember doing at any room he knew Sam was in. He was looking at his shoes, wondering how he was ever going to dig himself out of the crap shoot he seemed stuck in when it came to Sam, when the door opened. Dean looked up, feeling exposed and vulnerable and hoping that Sam wouldn’t see how raw he was. Sam paused for a beat, took a deep breath in before slamming Dean with Bitch-face number 17, (Dean was in so much trouble) and shoving the door closed in Dean’s face without even saying one word.

Fuck.

Dean didn’t bother knocking again. Sam knew he was there. Instead he turned around, leaned back against that crappy door with the crappy 1-1-8 nailed to it, and slowly slid down. As soon as his ass hit the hard ground, his head fell down to his knees, his hands running over his short hair in frustration. Fuck.

“Sam,” Dean practically whispered. “C’mon dude. We need to talk. “

Nothing.

“We can’t go on like this, Sam. I can’t go on like this.”

Nothing.

“Please dude. We can fix this. We always fix it.”

Nothing.

”Sammy. Please.” A so-soft, sighed out prayer.

The click of a latch, and Dean fell into the room as the door gave way behind him. He just caught an upside down glimpse of long legs walking away from him, large hands combing through messy hair, and broad shoulders tensing, as Sam finally collapsed on the bed furthest away from the door. And furthest away from Dean.

Dean lay there, on the avocado green carpet. He just lay there and looked at Sam, with no idea how he should even start. Eventually, Sam looked over at him, and Dean was sure he saw an eye roll. It wasn’t much, but it was familiar and familiar was as good a starting point as any.

Scrubbing his hands over his tired face, Dean finally crawled to his feet, feeling as if he was carrying a goddamned dead weight on his shoulders. He stood in the room and looked around, briefly taking in the mustard colored wall-paper and spare, grubby furnishings, before turning towards Sam. Sam looked tired. Sam looked fucking exhausted. And that dead weight Dean felt he was carrying? Sam looked like he had one of his own.

“Um…” Dean began. “You got any booze around here, or does that not fall under your new ‘organic’ diet?” Dean made a bad attempt at joking. Sam just leveled him with Bitch-face number 3. Right, Dean thought. Jokes aren’t gonna cut it this time.

”Dean,” Sam sighed out, finally. “What are you doing here?”

Dean just stared at his brother. “Looking for you, obviously. You hung up on me and, dude. I couldn’t get hold of you. I had no idea where you were or how you were. I was worried, Sam.”

For one long moment, Sam just sat there. Eyes closed. Looking for all the world as if he was trying to meditate. Slowly his eyes opened, and turned to focus on Dean. Dean had to take a step back, when faced with what he saw in Sam’s eyes.

“You have Benny. You made it pretty fucking clear that Benny is your wingman now. And after what you did with Amelia… Dean, I can’t…” Sam faltered. He ran his large hands over his face, as if he was trying to wipe his emotions off of his face, out of his heart.

Dean looked over at his baby brother, horrified by what he saw. Even when Sam was battling his hallucinations of Lucifer, even when Sam was practically dying from sleep deprivation, Dean had never seen him look so defeated.

“Sam,” he started.

“Just don’t, Dean. Don’t.” Sam’s voice was resigned, devoid of all emotion except for the tiny tremor Dean could just make out. “Things just aren’t the same. They may never be the same, no matter how hard we try. We can’t force ourselves to fit into the same holes we once occupied. Not after this past year and everything we’ve been through. Not after so much time away from each other. Our shapes have changed and maybe…” Sam hesitated again. “… maybe we just don’t fit anymore.” 

There. Dean recognized the break in Sam’s voice right there. And he knew that it wasn’t all over. Not yet.

Dean knew they had a mountain of issues to wade through. He knew that Sam had not told him even close to everything about his year with Amelia and that damned dog, while Dean was struggling to survive in a motherfucking nightmare of a warzone. But then, Dean had not told Sam everything either. And if he owned the truth, how could he rail on Sam for doing something Dean himself was doing? How could he blame Sam for keeping secrets when Dean was not ready to share all of his own truths? Dean knew that he couldn’t. And this time? This time, Dean had to be the one to give. He had to be the one to show his weaknesses. He had to be the one to show Sam that in spite of everything, he was still betting on them. Sam and Dean Winchester were a force to be reckoned with. Together they could overcome any goddamned thing. Even each other’s insecurities. They completed each other. They were soul mates. And if Dean didn’t believe it before, even with all the times he had thought Sam was dead, or so far gone he could never dig him out, this past year, the violence of it, the uncertainty, never knowing if Sam was alive, if Cas was alive, hell not being sure if he was really alive himself … These things had cemented his belief that Sam truly was his other half. He just didn’t work right if he wasn’t with Sam. And yes, he had clung to Benny. Benny had been the one sure thing he had. Dean was not going to drop Benny now. But Dean simply needed Sam. Like air. He couldn’t take one full breath unless Sam was with him.

So Dean gave. 

Slowly, so slowly, afraid Sam would flee, Dean walked over to him, and stood in front of his little brother. Slowly, so slowly, Dean descended to his knees in front of his little brother. Slowly, ever so slowly, Dean reached out and took those giant hands in his own, linking his fingers through the fingers of Sam’s left hand and placing Sam’s right hand directly over his own heart. Slowly, so slowly Dean lifted his eyes to Sam’s, watching as Sam slowly blinked, looking first at their entwined hands over Dean’s heart, and then shifting his gaze to look at Dean. At his eyes. Right into Dean’s eyes and through his damned soul.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean gasped. “We fit. We always fit. We will always fit.” 

Sam looked down and shook his head slightly.

“No, Sam. Listen,” Dean practically begged. “Listen to me. I know these last few months haven’t been easy. I know…” Dean cleared his throat. “I know I haven’t made it easy on you Sam. I know I haven’t always been honest with you, and you know I haven’t told you everything.”

Sam bit his lip and looked away.

“But,” Dean pushed on, “I know you haven’t been totally honest with me either. Dude, I know you and I know you’re hiding something. But Sam, this is what we do. We fix each other up, and make each other whole again. Nothing, nobody can change that. Not Cas, not Benny, not the fucking Apocalypse, not motherfucking archangels with their own agendas and definitely not giant Dicks who send one of us so far away from the other when we gank him that we can’t even begin to see our way back.”

Dean watched as Sam swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort. But Sam was looking at him. Hadn’t taken his eyes of Dean’s for the last few moments, so Dean finally moved his body forward, freeing his hands from Sam’s and moving them to cradle either side of Sam’s head, angling his face towards Dean’s so Sam would be able to see the truth of what he was saying.

“We fit. It doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy, but baby boy,” – Sam’s breath hitched – “it’s worth it. We’re worth it. And Sam, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t go on with you by my side every damn day, pretending everything is fine when it’s not. Help me fix us. Help me, please. Sammy, please.”

With that final entreaty, Dean pulled Sam’s face down, and finally, fucking finally, their lips touched, and Dean felt like he’d come home. Sam gave a breathy moan, but it was almost as if he were hesitating, getting ready to pull away, so Dean pulled his only ace.

“Sam,” Dean breathed across Sam’s lips. “Need you baby boy. Need you so bad. Need to feel you inside me, Sammy.” And Dean did. Dean desperately needed to give himself to Sam. Needed to give Sam all his vulnerability. To show Sam that right then, Sam was the one with all the power. Sam was the one with the power to break Dean. And the one with the power to mend him.

Sam shuddered, taking in a deep breath and pulled away from Dean’s mouth to look at him. Dean’s eyes slowly opened and showed Sam everything he needed to know. Sam knew that this wasn’t going to be an easy fix, but he finally saw that Dean knew they were forever. No getting away from it. Sam hadn’t always been convinced that Dean understood that the way he did. He had sometimes worried that Dean would realize he wasn’t worth the effort and leave him. And Sam would have let him. In fact, that was what Sam had been doing when he left Kermit, travelling in the opposite direction to Dean, all the time feeling their connection stretching and stretching, like a rubber band ready to snap. Sam figured once the band did snap, that Dean would be free of him and Sam would be able to sink into some black hole in his mind and never come up again. What would be the point without Dean?

But now, Dean was here. On his knees in front of Sam, telling Sam that he knew they were worth it. That he knew, regardless of what society thought, they were made for each other. That they were two halves of the same soul. And now Dean was asking Sam to… oh God… Dean had always been the dominant one, from the moment this insane thing between them had started, all those years ago. For Dean to give up his power like that, to put Sam in control. Dean knew him so well. Dean had seen that Sam was floundering, unsure of his place or his role, feeling weak and useless and now, Dean was giving him all the power. Sam could not have loved Dean more. The man was his touchstone, and one way or another, Sam saw now that Dean would always guide Sam home. To him.

With one last intense look, Sam finally smiled, and then crashed his lips to Dean’s. The impact made Dean gasp for air, his mouth opening for Sam, letting his baby brother get his first taste in too many months. Both men groaned, the familiarity and rightness of finally tasting each other again, sending quivers through each of them. Sam put his hands on Dean’s upper arms and slowly brought his brother up, rising with him until they were both standing between the room’s twin beds.

“Dean,” Sam pulled away, to look at Dean once more. “Dean,” he said again, and really, that was all he needed to say. Dean melted into his arms, while Sam ran his enormous hands over every inch of Dean that he could. His hands covered Dean’s head, moved through his cropped hair, circled his ears. His hands travelled to the back of Dean’s neck, squeezing there for a moment, before moving down and along Dean’s shoulders. Down Dean’s arms, which were linked around Sam’s waist, and around to cup Dean’s ass, squeezing again. That earned him another groan from Dean, which Sam just swallowed with a grin. His hands travelled back up, slipping under Dean’s t-shirt, and lifting it as they travelled up his torso. Sam knew this body. Knew it so well, and yet it all felt new at the same time.

“Off, off, off,” Sam demanded, pulling and tugging at the fabric, frustrated at it for interrupting his time with Dean’s mouth. Dean gave a throaty chuckle, and began tugging at Sam’s flannel shirt in turn, pulling it off his long arms, and throwing it, along with the white beater Sam was wearing under it, to the floor to join his own cotton clothing. Chest to chest, finally, the brothers fell against each other, kissing and pulling and touching and stroking whatever part of the other their hands touched. Denim rubbed against denim, causing both to pull away and gulp down heavy breaths at the feel of each other’s cocks, hard and so, so ready.

With hands fumbling in hair, over taut nipples, and around shoulders, shoes were impatiently toed off and carelessly kicked away. Sam never wore a belt, so his jean buttons were popped open before he even had Dean’s belt unbuckled, and at the feel of Dean’s hand in his pants, Sam thought he might come instantly.

“Wait Dean!” he gasped. “Fuck, just… I don’t want this to end too soon. Slow the fuck down.”

Dean reluctantly pulled his hand from Sam’s cock, Christ he had missed the feel of Sam in his hand, and placed it instead on his own jeans, helping Sam get him out of them.

After what seemed like a thousand years, they were both naked, completely unashamed and reveling in the sight of each other. Sam was the first to look away, moving his eyes from Dean’s toned body, muscles rippling, cock twitching, to look at Dean’s face. He knew the expression he saw there mirrored his own. Want and need, and lust and so much love, Sam could barely stand it. 

He stretched out his hand, and said so softly, “C’mere Dee, come lie with me.”

Dean blinked and swallowed down the emotion that was threatening to choke him. He put his hand in Sam’s giant paw, and allowed himself to be led to one of the beds, where he lay down, feeling completely exposed and so, so safe with Sam hovering over him.

“Jesus Christ, Dean. So beautiful. So goddamned beautiful.” 

Dean couldn’t look away as his baby brother, his Sammy, settled himself between his legs, leaned over him, and taking his head in his hands once again began to kiss Dean so gently. So gently. As if, if he could just be gentle enough he could fix everything with his adoration for this man spread out beneath him. So slowly and so gently, Sam traced Dean’s lips with his tongue, travelling so slowly and so gently down his neck, lingering at the hollow behind his ear. So slowly and so gently, Sam continued his way down, softly sucking on Dean’s adam’s apple, earning him a low moan from Dean.

Travelling further down, Sam started lapping at Dean’s nipples, so gently, as if he was afraid Dean could break. Or disappear. Dean was so busy writhing from the exquisite feeling of Sam’s mouth on him, he hadn’t noticed that those large hands were tracing a trail of their own. The moment they made contact with Dean’s cock, his hips bucked and Dean thought he might lose his everloving mind if Sam didn’t fuck him soon. Felt that he wouldn’t be able to take another breath without Sam inside of him.

“Sam. Please. I need you baby boy. Waited for so long. No more. No more.” This last was almost a sob.

Sam leaned over to rummage in his duffle and brought out the lube. He leaned over again, to retrieve a condom, but Dean stopped him. “No, Sammy,” he whispered. “Just us. Just us. Just us.” Dean repeated like a mantra.

Sam swallowed and nodded. He returned his mouth to lap and lick at Dean’s chest, while his slicked up fingers made their way down, down, over Dean’s cock, pausing at his balls, and rolling them in the silky slickness, and then finally further down and to the back, slipping through Dean’s cheeks, to find his sweet, clenching hole.

Sam dipped one finger in, wanting to prepare Dean gently and yet still impatient as he heard Dean whimper at the feel of his finger sliding inside of him.

“So good Sammy. Fuck,” Dean breathed. “More, Jesus Sam, more, please.”

Not wanting to rush, but barely able to keep it together, Sam gently pushed a second finger inside of Dean, slowly scissoring and twisting his fingers, seeking out that one spot that would make Dean go crazy. The quivering and whimpering beneath him let Sam know he’d found it.

“Now Sam, I’m ready. Need you inside, now.” Dean demanded.

“Not yet, babe. One more.” Sam huffed out a small laugh when he saw Dean actually pout at his words. “Don’t wanna hurt you, Dee,” Sam explained as he eased three fingers into his big brother. “Love you so much…”

Dean shuddered. “Sam. Sam. Sam. Please.”

“All right, Dean. Okay. Just… Dean?” Sam shifted Dean’s face to look at him, Dean’s pupil-blown eyes searching his brother’s. “Tell me if I hurt you? Promise?” Sam looked so vulnerable as he asked that of Dean, Dean thought his heart might explode. Taking Sam’s hand in his and placing it over his heart once again, Dean nodded, “I promise baby boy. Now, fuck me Sam. Chrissakes, please.”

With that, Sam took his own cock in his slicked up hand and lined himself up with Dean’s stretched hole. Slowly, gently, Sam pushed, watching with wide eyes as his body slipped inside of Dean’s. And Dean watched Sam watching them join, mesmerized by the sight of one perfect tear escaping from his Sammy’s eye and rolling down his face.

Once again, Dean pulled Sam’s face towards him, and held his glazed gaze. “See Sammy?” Dean asked, as Sam slid all the way into him. “We fit. We will always fit. Made for each other baby boy. I’m yours. You’re mine. That is the only truth we really need.”

Sam collapsed on top of Dean, hiding his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. “Dee. Dee. Love you so fucking much. Always been yours, Dee. Always. Our truth. Our truth.”

With soft writhing and thrusting and so gentle love-making, Dean felt it when Sam’s body went rigid and his thrusts quickened. Leaning up on one hand, resting his entire weight on one arm, Sam wrapped a huge hand around Dean’s cock and stroked him until they came together, in almost perfect synchronicity, while they just looked at each other, soft words passing between them. 

Sam finally collapsed on top of Dean, but when he made to pull out and move off of his brother, knowing how Dean didn’t like to be smothered, Dean held Sam so tightly to him. “Don’t. Don’t leave. Not yet. Just, lie with me like this, Sammy. My Sammy.”

Sam sighed, and relaxed back into Dean. All of Dean. Sure, they still had a long way to go. But this Christmas Eve, they had given each other, not only the only thing they ever wanted, but the only thing either of them ever needed.

Each other.


	7. ‘Zat You, Santa Claus? by mysticsparrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author: mysticsparrow
> 
> Word Count: 4,300
> 
> Summary written by author: Christmas Eve and Christmas Day 2001 Winchester style. John has had a no work on Christmas rule ever since Nebraska. Dean and Sam have had a no kissing in front of John rule ever since…ever. (I’m no good at summaries)

_Oh there, Santa, you gave me a scare._

_Now stop teasing cause I know you’re there._

_We don’t believe in no goblins today,_

_But I can’t explain why I’m shaking that way._

“Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!” John calls out as he enters the motel room looking for all the world like Santa Claus laden with two large paper bags in one hand and an even larger black plastic bag balanced on his shoulder with the other.

Dean tosses down the copy of  _Guns & Ammo_ he’d been skimming through and Sam looks over from the TV where he’d been halfheartedly watching  _It’s a Wonderful Life_  for the third time this week.

When Dean realizes that his father is holding something pretty big and oddly shaped under that plastic bag he swings off the bed and turns to shoot a questioning look over at his brother. Sam just shrugs and stands. They meet their father at the small table in the corner where his sets everything down.

Johns lifts the plastic to reveal what can only be described as a holiday wreath of PBR cans glued in a circle in such a way that they curve outward slightly. There’s a big silver bow messily hot glued on one side of the circle and a loop of rope on the opposite side meant for hanging the thing.

“Merry Christmas boys.” John says again looking form one son to the other.

“How-where, umm did  _you_ -” Sam finally gives up and shakes his head.

“Dad. It’s awesome.” Dean cuts in and elbows Sam as he steps around the table to get a closer look. John laughs and hands Dean a six-pack of Bud Light and then points at Sam. “Share it with your brother if he wants some.”

John starts unpacking a bag of takeout food and another six-pack of beer for himself. “I hope you boys are hungry. I went a little crazy on the food,” John says, “and I couldn’t decide between pumpkin pie or pecan. So I got both.”

“Nice,” Dean says. He takes two bottles out of the cardboard carrier and puts the rest in the cooler on the floor then opens both bottles and offers one one to Sam.

Sam takes it and stands looking at the framed art deco print next to the door sipping slowly and then sets the beer down and picks up the wreath. He walks over and takes the print off the wall, sets it on the floor and hangs the wreath by its rope on the exposed nail.

John walks over and claps Sam on the shoulder. “ _Now_  it’s Christmas.” 

“There’s only one thing missing.” Dean picks up the remote and begins flipping through the channels. He stops when he finds a station playing the loop of the burning Yule Log.

They all start loading paper plates with rotisserie chicken and passing around napkins and plastic forks. Dean takes extra cornbread and Sam is the only one who eats any of the green beans but they all laugh and reminisce about their life on the road and share the funny stories and happy memories mixed in among the blood and pain and loss.

“Remember that time Dean dropped a whole unlit book of matches into the grave in…was it Springfield Ohio or Illinois?” Sam asks scooping more mashed potatoes and corn onto his plate.

“Hey man, you were the one who screamed like a girl when the dude’s ghost popped up behind you,” Dean retorts. “And then you tripped over the tombstone.”

“ I  _so_  did  _not_  scream like a girl.”

“Oh yeah? Remember the poltergeist in Palm Springs?” Dean says pointedly.

“Remember the eye of newt?” Sam shoots back.

Dean drops his fork. “We promised never to talk about that one again, Sam. Dad! Tell him we promised.”

John just shrugs and pops a steamed carrot into his mouth.

“Okay then. What about the time that witch cursed Dad to cough up bugs?” Dean looks straight at his father.

John swallows the carrot carefully and groans, suddenly trying not to gag.

“Oh I remember,” Sam says. “I couldn’t find the hex bags fast enough.”

“Not the bugs story. Not when I’m eating guys. Come on.” John looks down at his plate as if the food left there might suddenly sprout legs and start scurrying away.

“Witches, man,” Dean huffs. They eat silently for a minute before Dean chuckles. “Hey Sam, remember that old lady in Sarasota?” he says mischievously tapping Sam’s arm and motioning toward John.

Sam’s eyes widen. “Oh my god! The one who kept telling Dad he looked like a young Clark Gable? Dad, you could have gotten so laid.”

“Hey! Watch your mouth.” John shakes his head but can’t hide that he’s blushing and then turns to Dean. “That’s not as bad as the time Sammy got himself locked in the bathroom at that truck stop in Arkansas. How old was he? Five? Six?”

Dean looks over at Sam.  _Oh great here we go._  John might be laughing now but he was pretty pissed at the time that Dean had let Sam go into the bathroom alone.

Sam looks genuinely confused. “Wait. Really?”

Dean takes a long pull on his beer before nodding. “You were five and you said you were a ‘big boy’ and wanted to go in by yourself but then, I dunno, you just started banging on the door for me to let you out but it was one of those doors that automatically locked from the inside,” He explains.

“It caused quite a scene.” John chimes in. “I was outside filling the tank and I when I came in Dean was standing outside the bathroom, just standing there crying but he wouldn’t let go of the door handle.”

Sam looks over at Dean who’s suddenly really interested in the small hole in the knee of his jeans.

“The woman who worked at the fast food counter came over and when I told her my little brother was stuck in there she kept calling through the door:  _Sammy can you turn the lock sweetie,”_  Dean says.

“But you just kept callin’ out for Dean and cryin’ so loud until the manger finally found the master key and got you outta there,” John finishes.

“Is that true?” Sam asks Dean, who’s still picking at the hole in his pants, but John keeps talking.

“You grabbed on to your brother and wouldn’t let go for almost an hour,” he says draining the last of his beer.

Dean finally sits up and looks right at his brother.

Sam’s not sure if his dad was talking to him or Dean but he knows it doesn’t really matter. They would have held on to each other all night anyway.

“Dean Winchester, you’re my hero.” Sam says, imitating the line from Ferris Bueller.

John lets out a braying laugh and Dean’s face turns red.

“Shut up and eat your food!” Dean scowls but when Sam bumps his knee against Dean’s leg under the table Dean bumps back and sneaks a wink at his brother.

“A toast,” John says, suddenly still laughing and raising his beer. “To an endless supply of rock salt.”

Sam almost chokes on his food, he starts laughing so hard, and clinks his bottle against John’s.

Dean raises his beer.“To pecan pie.” 

“To pecan pie!” John laughs and clinks his bottle against Dean’s.

“And to the family business,” Dean adds and John drinks again.

Dean glances at Sam who sips his beer quietly. Sam catches Dean’s eye and then says, “To family,” and holds his bottle out to clink against Dean’s

“To family,” John repeats solemnly and takes a long swig of beer.

For a moment the laughter stops and they all think about the memories that are too painful and for a few seconds all three of them are thinking about Mary but they don’t know it.

Then suddenly Dean says, “Hey, what do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire? Huh? Huh? Frostbite! Get it?”

Dean laughs hysterically at his own joke and Sam groans and says, “How long have you been holding on to  _that_  one?”

John laughs along but isn’t really paying attention. The holidays always were,  _are_ too close to the anniversary of Mary’s death for John to really be filled with holiday cheer and reasons to be thankful but after that one year he got stuck nearly two states away and didn’t make it back until the day after Christmas…well, the boys’ silence and overly polite smiles when they opened the matching Leatherman pocket knives he’d gotten them spoke louder than any angry words. John had been trying to make it up to them ever since. Some years he gets it right better than others.

*********************************

After they are finished eating John and Dean sit down to watch  _A Christmas Story_  and Sam hides in the bathroom.

He holds the flask up one more time, to admire the monogrammed  _D.W._ in gothic style block letters, before he places it in the box. Sam can’t wait to see the look on Dean’s face when he opens it. Sam had been saving up the money for months and then had a hell of a time trying to sneak off to get the engraving done but he did it and can hardly contain his excitement to give it to his brother.

He folds open the newspaper he’d brought in with him and slides out the comics page and uses it to wrap the box. He has to use some black electrical tape he found in the trunk of the car to seal it up.  _That’s fine._  Sam decides. _This way Dean will be really surprised when it turns out to be something so nice._

There’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Just a minute.” Sam calls out. He puts the last piece of tape in place on the side of the box and then opens the door before gathering up the leftover newsprint.

“That for Dad?” Dean stands in the doorway looking at the wrapped gift box now sitting on the edge of the sink.   

“It’s for you. But you can’t open it until tomorrow.” Sam says.

“Aww, Sammy you shouldn’t have,” Dean says stretching out the words.

Sam rolls his eyes and starts to step past his brother but Dean pushes him back and closes the door behind them.   

“Dad…” Sam says warningly.

“Don’t worry. He fell asleep before the opening credits even finished,” Dean says picking up the box. Sam immediately snatches it away.

“No. You have to wait until tomorrow.” He puts the box back down on the counter. Dean shrugs and leans against the wall and crosses his arms.

“So, Dad said we could have the car tomorrow. I thought maybe we could catch a movie or something. I mean. If you wanted to. Or whatever.” 

“Yeah. That sounds like fun.” Sam steps into Dean’s personal space. “I mean. If you wanted to…or whatever.” He teases.

Dean uncrosses his arms and straightens up as Sam leans in next to him and whispers in his ear. “So uh, it’s been awhile. Since we—”

Sam stops. He can’t really finish the thought because he’s not really sure what to call it. Sex? They’ve only ever gone as far as giving each other hand jobs or watching each other jerk off. Is that considered sex? The thought makes Sam shiver though and he can feel the beginnings of arousal rushing through his veins and he lets his hand fall on his brother’s chest.

Dean nods. He knows what Sam means.

“Did you want to—?” Sam starts again and lets his hand slide down to rest on Dean’s belt.

“Did  _you_?” Dean says a little too forcefully because he  _does_  want to but he’s still not sure he’s supposed to want to.

No. He  _knows_  he’s not  _supposed_  to want to but he does, he really does but more than anything he wants  _Sam_  to want to. They’ve been everything to each other for as long as Dean can remember. He knows they’ve both slept with women but the  _something_  between them still sometimes makes him go weak in the knees and then they’re sneaking off to a public restroom and locking the door behind them and just feeling every inch of each other because if they didn’t one or the other might cease to exist.

Sam starts to unbuckle Dean’s belt and Dean is rock hard before he even gets the zipper open. Dean hisses when Sam reaches into his pants to wrap his long fingers around Dean’s dick and pulls Dean’s boxers down with his other hand.

Sam moves to press his body against his brother pinning him against the wall. He begins stroking Dean’s dick slowly with one hand and this time uses his other hand to grab Dean’s wrist tightly. Sam knows Dean likes it a little rough. He likes it when Sam takes control.

Sam also knows that with them it’s as much about the  _painpleasure_  as it is about Dean being reassured that he’s not taking advantage of his little brother. That Sam  _wants_  this too. Sam’s not sure Dean will ever really know or understand that it’s not his fault they ended up like this. It’s the way they were raised; pushed together, dependent on each other and almost afraid of anyone whose last name wasn’t Winchester.

It’s only right they should get to have a little fun, and anyway, Dean’s hot. Sam knows it. He sees the way people look at his brother. He sometimes wishes he got to hold his hand in public so that other people would look at him and know he gets to see Dean like this.

Dean’s body is vibrating under Sam’s careful touch. He runs his fingers lightly over the head of Dean’s dick and coats his fingers with the precome he finds there. When he moves his slicked fingers back down the shaft Dean moans and his head jerks back hitting the wall loudly.

“Shhh,” Sam says chuckling.

“Oh, shit, Sam,” Dean whispers and then reaches down to unbuckle and unzip Sam’s pants. It takes him a few tries but after a minute they are both matching each other stroke for stroke. Sam rests one hand on the wall next to Dean’s head and Dean gets his hand under the back of Sam’s shirt and the contact makes Sam want to burst into tears with want and he bites his lip.

They lean into each other as their strokes get rougher and Dean’s afraid they might end up on the floor.  _Someday they might get to do this in an actual bed._  He thinks. Which makes him start to think about actually fucking Sam and it’s so wrong he lets out a sobbed whisper. “Fuuuck Sammy. Fuck yes. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Sam grunts as all of the sensations in his body start heading south, pooling in his stomach and he wants to stay in the feeling forever and just live in this moment on perpetual loop like the burning yule log.

They’ve gotten pretty good at timing at. Holding back until they both come together panting and chanting each others names quietly and they are almost about to when there’s suddenly a knock at the bathroom door. They both jump but don’t stop. They look up into each other’s eyes. Hiding from John has always been part of the game.

“Hey, you boys okay in there?” They hear their father’s gravely voice.

“Yes!” They both shout not breaking eye contact. They know he won’t open the door. The endless motel room bathrooms have always been the one place they were allowed to have “Dad-free” time. John knows that with the way they live they sometimes need to talk without him listening in.

“Okay, I’m going to bed. Can one of you get some more ice for the cooler before you go to sleep?” 

“Sure. Coming right now.” Sam calls out and then he does. Turning his head to bite down on Dean’s shoulder to keep from moaning too loud, hard enough that he’s sure it will bruise. It’s the pain of the bite that pushes Dean over the edge and then they’re standing there with their arms wrapped around each other, holding each other up and riding the aftershocks, feeling each others hearts racing. Neither wanting to be the first to move.

Eventually they pull apart and get cleaned up. Sam goes down to the ice machine and hides his present for Dean in the glove box of the Impala. Dean is already sleeping by the time he slides into bed next to him.

*********************************

The next morning. Sam wakes up to Dean poking him in the shoulder. He turns his head and Dean puts a finger to his lips in a  _Shhh_ gesture and motions him closer. Sam tries to roll his body as quietly as he can to face his brother and scoot closer.

“Wake up, Sammy, it’s Christmas,” Dean whispers as his own eyes start to flutter closed again. Sam laughs softly and leans up to look over at John’s bed. The sound of his father snoring encourages him and he presses closer to Dean. Dean throws his arm over Sam’s stomach and they fall back to sleep holding each other.

A few hours later, John tosses Dean the keys from where he is sitting in the armchair across from the TV and eating a leftover slice of pie. Dean catches them just as he finishes shrugging into his jacket and opens the door for Sam.

John clears his throat and says, “You boys drive safely and be back before it gets dark. I mean it. I know it’s Christmas but that doesn’t mean you get to be stupid.” They both nod and then John nods too. “Alright, now go have fun.”

“Yes, sir,” they say in unison and start to head out the door.

“And Dean, watch out for your brother,” John calls after them.

Sam sighs and shoots Dean a look that he knows John can’t see and Dean just tilts his head at his brother because they both know that looking after Sam comes as naturally to Dean as breathing. Actually, Sam thinks, if you made a list of Dean’s priorities Sam’s safety would probably come  _before_ breathing and some part of Sam might hate John for that but today is not the day to think about it.

As they walk across the parking lot Sam bumps his shoulder against Dean’s. Dean spins to face Sam now walking backwards in front of him. He reaches into his jacket pocket and when he pulls it out he is holding a small wrapped candy cane.

Sam smiles and reaches out to take it. “Thank you.” he says sincerely like it’s exactly want he wanted for Christmas.

Dean chuckles softly. “My god you are such a girl.” 

“Shut up.” Sam says and playfully punches Dean in the chest.

“Ouch.” Deans says laughing and tries to grab the candy cane back but Sam ducks to the right and around the car. Dean spins around now standing at the driver’s side of the Impala.

“You know it’s not too late to tell Santa to put you on the naughty list this year.”

“Yeah, sorry, that trick stopped working when I was eight.” Sam says looking at him over the roof of the car.

“All right, smartass, where to?” Dean twirls the keys around his finger.

“I saw in the paper that the remake of  _Ocean’s Eleven_  is still playing at the multiplex downtown.”

“Lead the way Chewie.” Dean says unlocking the doors.

“Yeah,  _that’s_  not catching on.” Sam bitch-faces at his brother once he slides into the passenger seat.

“Then you better stop growing into a Wookie-sized co-pilot,” Dean points out.

“Just—Just drive… _Han_.” Sam says.

Dean gives Sam a  _that’s right_  grin and snaps on the radio and spins the dial. It’s mostly Christmas tunes and he stops on a station in the middle of a Trans-Siberian Orchestra medley.

As they drive out to the main drag of the town Dean rests his hand on the bench seat between them. When Sam moves to put his hand over his brother’s Dean curls his fingers into Sam’s and squeezes. They drive like that silently for a long time but when Dean has to take his hand away to make a wide left turn he doesn’t put it back.

At the box office Dean buys two tickets to the matinee of  _Ocean’s Eleven_ with a fake credit card John gave him. The kid who rips their tickets is wearing a red Santa hat and hands them each a sticker with a picture of a film reel weaving through the words:  _I saw Santa Claus at the Silver Screen Movie House._

Sam pulls his sticker away from the wax paper backing and sticks it to the middle of Dean’s shirt. Dean peels it off his shirt and slaps it onto the back of Sam’s jacket where it stays when Sam realizes he can’t reach it. The smug look on Dean’s face makes butterflies in Sam’s stomach.

They load up on junk food at the snack bar: popcorn and Twizzlers for Dean, Skittles and Milk Duds for Sam, and a large cherry coke with two straws.

Sam lets Dean pick the seats. They take off their jackets and try to toss popcorn and candy into each other’s mouths and have a thumb war that almost escalates into a full-scale wrestling match until the lights go down. Sam shushes Dean during the trailers but later when a guy in the row in front of them shoots a disapproving look at Dean when he whistles as Julia Roberts walks down the stairs on the screen Sam shakes his head and throws popcorn at the guy.

The brothers laugh together at all the right moments and smile at each other when they both reach for the cup at the same time and their fingers touch. They clap with the rest of the audience when the final credits roll and then stumble back into the sunlight bumping shoulders and reciting their favorite lines hopped up on sugar and each other.

The get back into the car and drive out to an open field where they park and sit on the hood of the Impala, not yet ready to go back to the motel, to John.

Sam leans back against the windshield and unwraps the candy cane and Dean watches the practically obscene way Sam’s lips move as he sucks on it and finally reaches out to bang him on the knee to make him stop. “What?” Sam asks innocently.

Dean just looks at him until Sam gets up to retrieves his present for Dean from the glove box. When Dean opens it he’s stunned into silence. He holds the flask in his hands running his fingers over the engraved initials.

“Sam. This—this is beautiful. Thank you.”

Sam smiles around the candy cane still sticking out of his mouth and nods. “You like it?”

“Yeah. I like it. I really like it.” After a moment Dean sighs and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a cassette tape in a plastic box and looks at it for a moment before he holds it out to his brother.

Sam furrows his brow and takes it. Inside is a blank cassette but the paper insert has a track listing in Dean’s slanted handwriting. Sam takes the candy cane out of his mouth.

“A mixtape? You made me a mixtape?” He looks back up at Dean who looks away and starts to slide off the hood of the car. “That is so…When? How?”

“The last time I was at Bobby’s. He’s got some good stuff on vinyl actually.” Sam does the math and when he realizes Dean’s been carrying the tape around for the last three months he jumps off the car to stand next to his brother.

“Thank you!” Sam steps in front of Dean who still isn’t looking at him.

“Yeah, well, it’s not as nice as this.” Dean holds up the flask.

“No. It’s perfect. I love it – I love-” but Sam doesn’t get to finish the sentence.

When Dean kisses his brother it tastes like candy and Christmas and all the good things Dean’s ever done or wanted out of his ill-fated life, and when Sam kisses him back and wraps his arms around Dean holding him tight, his soft laughter spilling into Dean’s mouth, Dean silently thanks Santa for giving him exactly what he wanted this year.

When they finally part Sam rests his forehead against Dean’s and breathes in the smell of his brother. The smell of home. Dean’s smile mirroring his own.

“Merry Christmas, Sammy.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”


	8. A Day to Remember by jaredassbutt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author: jaredassbutt
> 
> Word Count: 1200

It was Christmas Day. The brunet shifted, cracked open his sleep encrusted eyes as light poured in through the nearby window. Turning his head slowly, soft sandy coloured hair fell into a scruffy mess over his hazel-green eyes, momentarily obscuring his view. He looked out across the silent street, peeping out through the narrow crack in the curtains, a blanket of glossy white snow covering the buildings in the distance of the motel. The houses were over-decorated, ladened with strings of bright lights and large, inflatable Santas. As usual, it was over the top. Dean rolled his tired eyes to look at the sleeping form spread over both sides of the bed, arms stretched out and mouth agape, a thin trickle of saliva sliding down a defined jaw.

He didn’t understand people. Why go over the top, when you can simply spend the day with someone you love? It was a waste of time spending so many hours on pointless decorations. He shifted, moving closer to Sam, brushing his lips against the young male’s forehead, offering a small smile before leaving with a graceful stride. Walking out of the motel bedroom to make some breakfast for Sam, he smiled at the tree peeking in through the partially open door to the darkened living room. Sammy had mentioned getting a tree this year. They had been walking around the town in Minnesota on business, arms linked, snowflakes falling from the sky. Christmas was a time their dad had never celebrated; it was just another hunting day to them. But now, things were different. Now it was the two of them. Just… Sam and Dean, nothing more, and nothing less.  
  
Dean smiled goofily as he thought about the present he had gotten Sam. The vessel had spent about an hour trying to wrap it up last night, deciding on what colour paper, which ribbon he should use to tie it, and what to write in the card. He sighed and then grinned, tiptoeing into the kitchen as to not wake Sammy; as he was prone to being very grouchy when forcefully awoken. Picking up a frying pan and a few ingredients, Dean decided to rustle up pancakes for them both.  
  
Mixing the ingredients without any hiccups, he wasted little time in heating the griddle, cursing loudly as he burned the first pancake, which smelt horrific and resembled a lump of molten rock. Eyeing the clump of charred pancake, he sighed, displeasure apparent as he tossed it into the bin, grumbling over how his finger had caught upon the hot ring, before returning to the second pancake.  
  
An appetizing smell met Sam’s nostrils, and he shifted, eyelashes batting once, twice, before blinking drowsily, forcing themselves open in time with a wide yawn. Idly scratching the side of his head, he sat up, leaning lazily against the headboard for just a moment, before a thought suddenly struck him. With a giggle that was far too child-like for a grown man such as himself, Sam leapt from the warmth of his bed, and into the cold room, hesitating just long enough for a shiver to wrack his body.  
  
A broad grin plastered his face, dimples and all, eyes widening at the sight of snow, an uncontrollable excitement coursing through his body, which left him shouting out.  
  
“Hey big brother! It snowed!”   
  
With an excited huff, Sam ran over to greet his older brother.  
  
The older Winchester’s eyes shot open as something attacked him from behind, feeling strong arms wrapping tightly around his waist, and a head resting on his shoulder, soft lips pressing against the nape of his neck.  
  
“You know Sammy, you’re like a damn five year old.” Dean shook his head with a chuckle, laying out breakfast on the table, not even attempting to pry Sam off. “Now shut up and eat.”  
  
Sam failed to object, and the two of them sat in silence as they ate their syrup=coated pancakes- sprinkled liberally with sugar in Sammy’s case.  
  
“So when do you want to open your presents?” Dean stated, glancing over the top of the newspaper, taking a slow sip of coffee. Sam’s face lit up at the thought of giving Dean his presents, which had been picked out especially for his older brother. A slight flush crept up his neck, flooding over high cheekbones as he recalled Dean’s second present.  
  
Sam had hoped Dean didn’t notice the heavy shade of crimson dusting his cheeks and when Dean raised his eyebrow and placed his coffee down, he cursed under his breath.  
  
“What?” Dean looked Sammy over, curiosity in his eyes, with just a hint of hope.  
  
Green eyes, tainted with flecks of hazel, stared aimlessly at Sam, mouth suddenly dry as he stared his brother in the face. What could Gigantor have gotten him? Dean felt himself stand, and leaning over the table, his back arched as he captured Sam’s lips in a heat-seared kiss.  
  
Sam’s eyes widened at the unexpected kiss, caught off guard for a moment or so, before he caught up with his brother, and large hands rose, trailing along Dean’s waist, before creeping up his chest and around his neck, wrapping his arms around his brothers throat, bringing their bodies closer- well, as close as they could with the majority of the table between them. The older male licked Sam’s lower lip, begging for entrance to his mouth. Sam happily obliged, granting his brother entrance, and welcomed his older brother’s tongue to explore his mouth.  
  
A low moan sounded in the bottom of Dean’s throat as Sam pulled him onto his lap, bringing his hands up the male’s shirt and caressing his back affectionately, pulling Dean’s shirt over his head and throwing it onto the floor, careless as to where it landed, eyes much too occupied on Dean’s heated gaze. 

Dean’s body moved gracefully in time with Sam’s pounding thrusts, a meaningful moan escaping luscious lips each time Sam hit Dean’s sweet spot. Slender fingers curved around the brunette’s face finding there way into the long damp hair, clenching as Sam thrust harder. The taller male danced his fingers across the small male’s chest, going south towards his prize. Licking his pink, swollen lips.

 Long and hard strokes in time with the mind-blowing thrusts were making Dean go over the edge, a sudden burning in the pit of his stomach sent shivers down the older male’s spine. He didn’t want this pleasure to end, and so it seemed neither did Sam.

 “Oh no you don’t, not yet,” Sam breathed, seductively purring into Dean’s ear making the smaller male moan as he twirled his finger around the head of the Dean’s cock, Massaging in circles, sending pleasurable jolts down Dean’s back. Sam could feel his end coming, movement growing faster and harder slamming into Dean’s prostate to show play time was over.

“Sammy,” Dean moaned out, breathless from the bliss he was receiving, Sam stroking faster and moaning from Dean’s clenching walls, milking him dry.

 “Sam!” Dean breathed, spilling his seed over Sam’s stomach, connecting their fingers and staring each over in the face. A smile spreading across each of their faces. This surely was the best Christmas.

_“I love you.”_


	9. All I Want for Christmas by winchester_cathedral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author: winchester_cathedral
> 
> Word Count: 1100
> 
> Author’s note: Post Citizen-Fang. Wincest implied.

It was Christmas Eve, which meant something special to most people: warmth, holiday cheer, time spent with loved ones, all those moments depicted in cheesy seasonal movies or described on Hallmark cards. For Sam Winchester, it was just another night. No reason to celebrate, no visions of sugarplums or flights of fancy. He’d given up on Christmas a long time ago, and this year he’d reached positively Grinch-like proportions.

 At present, he was in a crappy motel room on the outskirts of Boise, Idaho, nursing a bottle of whiskey and trying not to think of the way the smoky burn reminded him of Dean’s lips. Trying not to think of him at all, really, and failing miserably. Everything was Dean, no matter how he tried to distract himself, and the ache inside him was threatening to eat him alive. He’d thought it best to forego the eggnog and stick to whiskey; it would numb him more quickly.

It wasn’t working. He’d finished nearly a full bottle but the ache was still there. All he could think about was that Dean - his partner, his brother, his lover for the better part of almost fifteen years - had essentially chosen a vampire, a monster, over him. Not only that, but the way he’d tricked Sam into thinking Amelia was in trouble… that had been the final straw. When Sam found out, he’d hung up on Dean and left. Drove away and didn’t look back, and he’d ended up, well… here, eventually. He hadn’t answered any of Dean’s calls or texts, making it pretty damn clear that Dean had fucked up.

He was polishing off the bottle of whiskey when he heard a sound outside. It was a sound he knew well - the unmistakable rumble of a 1967 Chevy Impala - and he swore to himself. He’d known it would only be a matter of time before Dean found him, but why tonight of all nights? 

Sure enough, mere seconds later there was a pounding at the door. “Sam! Open up! We gotta talk!”

An understatement if Sam ever heard one. He was starting to feel buzzed, a pleasant warmth washing over his face as he got to his feet, long legs carrying him to the door in easy, if teetering, strides. He opened the door, jaw set. Bitchface activated. “Now you want to talk? Okay. Let’s talk.” 

Upon really getting a good look at his brother, Dean’s expression shifted from hopeful determination to guilt-riddled worry. He knew he’d fucked up this time, but he hadn’t known it would affect Sam this badly. Still, that was why he was here. To make amends. Hopefully. “You at least gonna let me in? I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

Sam stepped aside wordlessly, allowing Dean enough room to come inside. Closed the door, folded his arms, fixed Dean with a gaze that could easily wither flowers. “Let’s hear it.”

“Listen, Sam. I know I screwed up. I know I went too far this time, but you gotta understand I was just trying to keep you and Benny both safe.  That’s all. I didn’t think it through. Now you got every right to be pissed, but you should know I’ve been driving myself nuts over this, trying to think up ways to make it up to you.” He rubbed a hand over his chin, wanting Sam to say something - anything. His silence was deafening. “Anyway, it took longer than I wanted it to, but I think I figured out something that’ll hopefully get the point across.”

He looked more nervous than Sam had seen him since he’d returned from Purgatory. It was actually somewhat refreshing, he thought, showing something akin to weakness. Maybe Dean - HIS Dean - was still in there after all. He nodded, urging Dean to continue.

“It was hard as hell to find… I had to enlist Cas’s help, and even he had a hard time. Took almost the whole month after you ran off, but…” He was digging around in his jacket, searching the various pockets. “I think it’s worth the wait. I hope so anyway.” An expression of relief washed over his face as he located the object inside one of the inner pockets, withdrawing it slowly and opening his hand.

Sam’s eyes widened, breath caught in his chest. It was the necklace he’d given Dean at Christmas many years ago. The amulet Castiel had said could help locate God. The same one Dean had thrown away when all hope seemed lost, when he’d lost faith in God and fate and Sam and everything else. He’d been making a point, but it had wounded Sam deeply. Seeing it again now, resting comfortably in Dean’s palm, was a shock. Plain and simple.

“Sammy, say somethin’.” 

“This…” He cleared his throat. “This is the best gift you could’ve given me.” 

Dean let out a slow breath, visibly relaxing. “Thought it would get my point across better than, you know, talking.”

“Oh, no, yeah. I get it. No chick flick moments.”

“You got that right.” Dean flashed a smile. Brilliant. Genuine. A smile Sam hadn’t seen in a long time.

“You going to put it on?”

“‘Course I’m putting it on. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Dean slipped the familiar black cord around his neck, gently rolling the small metallic idol’s head between his fingers. “Didn’t realize how much I missed this thing.” He hadn’t formally apologized, but Sam knew that’s what he was doing, in his own way. 

“I uh… I didn’t get you anything.” Sheepish, dimpled smile.

“You didn’t know I was coming,” Dean smiled again too, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “But if you insist, I have a couple of ideas.” He stepped closer, fingers slipping through the belt loops of Sam’s jeans. He tugged possessively, slotting his hips against Sam’s. “I think this year, you’ll be my present.”

Sam was fighting a smile, and losing the battle. His lips curled up gently at the edges, and he shook his head as he glanced at the clock. 12:04. “Well, it’s officially Christmas,” he murmured, being less than subtle about pulling Dean toward the bed. “Guess you should unwrap me.”

So he did.

And on earth, peace. Good will toward men. 


	10. Best Present Ever by professorriversong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author: professorrriversong
> 
> Word Count: 3109
> 
> Summary: Sam is in his sophomore year at Stanford and is missing Dean at Christmas time.

Sam wandered across the empty campus towards the law library. Term had finished last week and he had gradually waved off all his new friends. He’d had offers of going to spend Christmas at their houses but he couldn’t face it. Not this year. Last year things had been new and different and exciting. He’d gone with Kyle to his parents’ house in Columbus, Ohio. There had been a tree and lots of family and presents and even some snow resulting in snowball fights between Kyle’s cousins and Kyle’s aunts and uncles moaning about the journey back. It had been great and they had all made him feel really welcome but there was still the niggling thing at the back of Sam’s mind. Where was Dean? Was he alright? Did dad remember Christmas this year? Is Dean sitting on his own in a rundown motel with only a bottle of whisky for comfort? Can Dean find me if he wants to? Sam had left messages telling Dean where he was but since he never picked up the phone anymore, Sam wasn’t sure he even had the right number. He couldn’t bear the thought of Dean going to Stanford to see him and finding that he’d gone to the other end of the country.

This year Sam had decided that he was going to stay put. He was staying in his dorm room which was listed in the university directory so if Dean did decide to put in an appearance, he’d be easy to find. His friends had thought he was mad. They were worried he was going to be lonely. They didn’t understand how he could possible want to spend Christmas on his own. They all had loving families with homes that welcomed them back every vacation. They could never understand what Sam felt about family and Christmas. Everything was so dependent on Dean. He couldn’t really feel anything until Dean was there with him.

Sam may not get lonely, but he certainly got bored. Three days in to his solitude and here he was, pushing open the doors to the library with a backpack full of books, about to make a start on next semester’s reading. If he was going to stay at Stanford during the vacation, Sam figured the least he could do would be to get a good head start on the work so that he wouldn’t have to stress as much in January.

A couple of hours later he emerged into the night air. It was a little cold but nothing like Ohio had been last year. It never felt quite like Christmas to Sam if it didn’t snow. Maybe he’d made the wrong decision about which school to end up at. He tried to picture himself at Harvard or Yale, trudging through the snow back towards his empty dorm room, devoid of any Christmas cheer. No Dean waiting for him with his best attempt at a tree and presents. No, actually it was a good thing it didn’t feel Christmassy yet. It stopped all those memories getting the better of him. Stopped him missing Dean more that he needed to.

Sam threw his backpack down on the chair and grabbed a soda from the mini fridge. He lay down on the bed, picking up the remote and flicking through the channels. What he needed was a good horror film to take his mind off Christmas. It being a week before Christmas though, there was nothing like that on any channel. It was Christmas family film after Christmas family film. Switching the TV off, he reached down and got his book off the floor. Rolling over, he flicked the reading light on and began to read, enveloping himself in the story and forgetting his current situation.

Christmas eve morning, Sam woke to the sound of carol singers outside his window. He dragged himself out of bed and over to the window. One of the departments had organised a carol concert that evening and the choir was rehearsing in the courtyard that Sam’s room overlooked. Children no older than 12 were singing while parents watched lovingly. It made Sam’s heart ache. His childhood had never been like that. There were never any parents watching from the sidelines, no one to give him a hug afterwards and tell him how proud of him they were. No one except Dean.

Sam felt his knees buckle and he sank to the floor. He didn’t realise that he could possibly miss Dean this much. Most of the year it was fine because there were other people around to distract him. He never stopped missing Dean but it was easier. Now, having spent almost two weeks on his own with no one except the librarians to talk to, he felt the full force of the emotion hitting him. Tears ran down his face as he whispered Dean’s name. Dean was everything to him. His brother, his parent, his friend, the only person that he could rely on in this world. And Sam had run from that, run from all that love. He knew why Dean never returned his calls, never answered his emails. He knew Dean felt betrayed. He’d left so many apology messages that he had lost count. And still there was no reply. Just two days ago, Sam had written a lengthy email trying his best to explain to Dean why he did what he did and how much he still loved Dean and how much he missed him. But no reply had come.

Sam knew that there were other feelings deep inside him as well. Feelings that he had never truly acknowledged but that grew every day. Feelings that he should not be having about his big brother. But really what choice did he have? Dean was everything to him. No one denied that. So who else would Sam fall for? Who else would Sam want to touch at the end of a long day? Who else would Sam want to spend the rest of his life with? Sam brought his long legs up against the rest of his body, hugging them desperately as he cried.

Sam wasn’t sure how long he sat there, curled up in a ball underneath the window, but by the time he moved the singers had gone. He showered, dressed and was sitting eating toast when there was a knock on the door. He walked over to the door, his mind racing with possibilities of who it could be. He barely dared hope that it might be Dean.

Opening the door, Sam found himself face to face with the building manager.

“Sam Winchester?”

“Yes,” Sam replied, slightly concerned. Visits from the building manager were usually a bad thing triggered by a complaint from a neighbour.

“This came for you.” She held out a parcel towards him. “I know we don’t usually take parcels at the front desk but I thought, since it’s Christmas, and I knew you were on your own up here, it might be important.”

She smiled at him as he thanked her and took the parcel off her.

“Well, have a good Christmas. The office will be closed for the next couple of days but if you need anything after that, please come and see us.”

“Thanks. I will. Merry Christmas.”

Sam stared down at the parcel as the building manager walked off down the corridor. Who could be sending him a parcel? He never got post. Ever. Ripping the parcel open, Sam discovered a small, black box. Gingerly, he lifted the lid. Inside the box was a belt buckle engraved with a number of different protection symbols. Sam could only think of one person who could possibly have sent him this gift. Only one person in the world that cared about him enough. Dean.

He pushed the door closed, not wanting anyone else to intrude on this moment. With shaky hands, Sam reached for his mobile and dialled Dean’s number. If Dean had sent him this gift, did that mean that he had forgiven Sam? Did that mean that he would answer his phone and Sam could hear his voice again?

“The number you have dialled cannot be reached. Please try again later.”

Sam lifted the belt buckle out of the box and gently ran his fingers over it. Even if he couldn’t get through to Dean on the phone, this was enough. This was proof that he still cared. And maybe one day he would ring Sam. And Sam could apologise in person. And everything would be okay again. Sam smiled as he traced the protection symbols. Dean was still protecting him from wherever he was, just like he always had done.

Sam was awoken from his thoughts by another knock on the door. Assuming that it was just the building manager back again, he swung the door open. But it wasn’t the building manager standing there. It was Dean.

Dean in all his glory. Dean in a bashed-up leather jacket and jeans. Dean with scars on his hands. Dean with a big smile on his face. Dean reaching his arms out towards Sam.

Sam stepped right into Dean’s arms and wrapped his own arms around Dean. Dean held him tight and whispered right into his ear, sending tingles down his spine.

“Sammy”

“Dean, Dean, Dean…”

Sam buried his face into the crook of Dean’s neck. It didn’t fit as easily as it used to. Showed how much Sam had grown since he’d last been held by Dean like this. Dean still smelled of Dean though. All beer and leather and something that Sam could never put his finger on but that was just pure Dean.

“I missed you so much, Dean. So much.”

Dean dragged his fingers through Sam’s hair.

“I know, Sammy.”

“I’m so sorry I left you.”

“I know, Sammy.”

“I love you, Dean.”

Dean cleared his throat and pulled away from Sam slightly, not breaking the contact.

“Yeah, me too Sammy,” he said gruffly, refusing to make eye contact with Sam.

Sam could tell that Dean was done with talking about feelings now. He pulled Dean back close to him for another hug and then stepped away.

“You eaten yet, Dean? There’s a diner nearby that does great burgers, so I’ve heard.”

Dean grinned back at him.

“Yeah? What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

Sam watched as his brother set off down the corridor, not bothering to wait for Sam to put on his shoes and grab his wallet. Sam didn’t think he’d ever been so happy in his life. Dean was here. For Christmas.

That evening Sam sat on the bed watching Dean pour them both large glasses of eggnog. Dean had insisted on buying huge amounts of Christmas decorations so now Sam’s dorm room resembled an explosion in a Christmas factory. There was a tree in the corner covered in brightly coloured tinsel and baubles with a big silver star on the top. Paper chains had been strung from corner to corner across the room. Mini Santa Clauses covered every available surface.

“I see you got my present,” Dean said, nodding toward the belt buckle abandoned by the door.

“Yeah. Thanks Dean. It’s great.”

Dean passed Sam a glass and then sat down on the chair, switching on the TV. It was still showing all the family Christmas films like before but Sam didn’t mind anymore. He didn’t want what they had. He had just what he wanted right here.

It was past midnight and both the boys were comfortably drunk before Dean brought up the sleeping situation.

“Got a spare blanket, Sammy?”

“No, why?”

“So I can bed down over here for the night.”

“Oh.”

It hadn’t even crossed Sam’s mind before that. Dean would need somewhere to sleep. Sam would have given up the bed in an instant if he thought there was any chance of Dean accepting the offer.

“We can share my bed,” Sam said very quickly before his brain caught up with what his mouth had just said.

“You sure?”

Dean looked quizzically at Sam. Like he was trying to see something more in Sam’s words.

“Yeah. It’s not like we haven’t shared before.”

This was true. So many nights had been spent in the same bed as children. On a good night it would be a queen-sized bed. When John was feeling badly off it would be a twin. They had been much younger and much smaller the last time they had shared a twin though. And Sam hadn’t had these inappropriate feelings last time either.

Dean shuffled off in the direction of the bathroom down the corridor while Sam stripped down to his boxers and t shirt and climbed into the bed. He pressed himself right up against the wall to try to give Dean as much space as possible. He tried to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought about sharing a bed with Dean.

Sam was practically asleep by the time Dean crawled into bed next to him. Sam sighed as he felt Dean’s bare legs touch his. There really wasn’t enough room in this bed for two grown men. He rolled over to face the wall. He could feel the heat of Dean’s body all down his back. Dean was right there. It would be so easy to roll over and kiss him. Not that Sam would do that. He’d fought these feelings for too many years to give in as easily as that.

“Merry Christmas Sammy,” Dean whispered.

“Merry Christmas Dean.”

Sam awoke with a jolt on Christmas Day. Something didn’t feel right. He opened his eyes and tried to roll over. This proved impossible. Dean had, at some point in the night, entirely wrapped himself around Sam. His arms encircled Sam’s chest and his legs were tight around Sam’s legs. Dean’s body was pressed flush against Sam’s back. Dean’s face was pressed into the back of Sam’s neck. As Sam realised how close Dean was, he felt his arousal levels increase dramatically. He needed to get away from Dean before he did something that he would regret.

“Dean!”

Dean just groaned and shuffled even closer to Sam. That was when Sam felt it, pressed against his lower back. Dean was hard. Sam moaned as he felt his own cock hardening. He fought desperately to escape from Dean’s arms. Feeling Dean’s arms loosen slightly, Sam rolled over to face Dean. Dean was half awake and staring at Sam with a strange look on his face.

“Dean. I gotta go. Let me go.”

Dean pulled him close again. Sam gasped as he felt their cocks rub together.

“Dean! Please!”

Dean reached a hand up and gently brushed the hair off Sam’s face.

“So beautiful, Sammy. I’d forgotten,” he whispered.

Sam’s eyes flickered closed at the touch.

“Dean.”

Dean pressed his lips gently onto Sam’s. Sam pulled away with a gasp, surprised but not upset.

“Dean!”

Dean’s eyes were closed and his breathing was evening out.

“Dean?”

Sam couldn’t believe this was happening. For years Sam had wanted to kiss Dean and it appeared that Dean might want Sam just as much. Sam took a deep breath and kissed Dean’s cheek. Dean mumbled incoherently. Sam kissed Dean on the lips.

Suddenly, Dean was pushing Sam away, hard and fast.

“Sam! What are you doing?”

Sam looked back at him, eyes wide and mouth open. He didn’t understand what was going on. Dean had kissed him and he’d kissed him back. Why was Dean acting like this now?

“I thought…y’know…that you…kinda…”

Dean swung his legs off the side of the bed and grabbed his jeans.

“Don’t go,” Sam implored him, using his best puppy dog eyes. He knew that Dean struggled to resist that. He couldn’t have Dean leaving now. Not when he thinks he might have done something that would irrevocably ruin their relationship.

Dean turned around to look at Sam.

“I need to go, Sam. Don’t you see? We can’t do this.”

“Dean. Please don’t go. I…I…need you.”

Sam could feel tears running down his cheek. He reached out and grasped Dean’s arm, pulling him back down onto the bed. Dean let himself be manoeuvred until he was lying flat on his back with Sam’s head on his chest. Sam was still crying as he felt Dean’s hand carding through his hair.

“I need you Dean. I want you. Always have. Long as I can remember. And I think you might want me too. And I can’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.”

Dean’s other hand reached down to rub Sam’s back.

“Sammy.”

Sam lifted his head to look into Dean’s eyes.

“We can’t. It’s wrong.”

“Don’t care.”

Sam was making the exact same face that he used to when he was a petulant toddler. Dean laughed gently. Sam didn’t know what to make of that. He pressed on regardless.

“Do you want me Dean? Like that?”

He wriggled up until his elbows were on either side of Dean’s head and Sam’s face was no more than a couple of inches from Dean’s.

“Do you Dean?”

Dean turned his head away and gave a curt nod. Sam raised a hand and gently tilted Dean’s face back round so he was looking at him again.

“Love you Dean.”

Sam captured Dean’s lips in a kiss before Dean could move away again. He kissed until he felt Dean’s lips begin to move under his. Until he felt Dean’s hands move down to grip his hips. Until Dean rolled them both over so that Sam was trapped underneath Dean.

Sam opened his mouth in shock and Dean took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Sam felt like his whole body was on fire. He had never felt this before when he had kissed other people. He wanted to be as close to Dean as possible. He drew his legs up and wrapped them around Dean’s waist, pulling him closer.

Dean ground down on Sam, forcing their cocks to rub against each other. Sam writhed underneath trying to get as much friction as possible. His whole body shuddered with every movement. He never knew he could feel like this. Never knew just how good Dean would be. One more thrust and Sam came all over the inside of his boxers. Dean reached a hand down between them to his own cock and with a couple of tugs was coming too.

Dean collapsed on top of Sam and breathed in his ear.

“Merry Christmas Sammy.”

“Merry Christmas Dean. Best present ever.”

“What, the belt buckle?”

“No. You.”


	11. But Your Innocence is Mine by yugidementia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author: yugidementia  
> Pairing: Sam/Dean (Sam is 15 Dean is 18/19)  
> Rating: PG  
> Word count: 2407  
> Summary: Dean wants Sam to have a good Christmas for once and drags him to a party. They bump into each other…under the mistletoe.

School let out for ‘winter break’ as the politically correct teachers referred to it. The only person Sam knew that wasn’t ambiguously Christian had to be Bobby’s friend Rufus. The parking lot had been abandoned no longer than five minutes after the final bell. Dad was hunting trolls disguised as Santa’s elves in this dreary Wisconsin town. If there was any doubt of how clever they are, it was settled in the mind of many a hunter.   
  
Dean pulled the car into sight, a stupid grin messing up his features.   
  
“What?” Sam asked after he slammed the door.  
  
“Jessica Randez.”  
  
“That tells me nothing, Dean.”  
  
“We’re going to her Christmas party. Five o’clock.”  
  
“I’ll stay home.”  
  
“Stop being a shut-in. You’re coming. Might finally get some action.”  
  
Dean shifted to drive and sped out, lead by his second brain. His hands tapped to the music shakily, singing the words under his breath. Sam held out his gloves and Dean shook his head ‘no.’ The car smelled like musk and leather; everything about the Impala was an extension of Dean.   
  
“Maybe I don’t want to get any ‘action.’”  
  
“Whatever. Best thing about dropping out is all the high school girls think I’m independent. They’re all game.”   
  
Dean’s parking job was a bit rough, slanted to the right. It had thrown Sam forward when he jabbed the brakes, but he had other things to think about than giving his brother whiplash.

 ——————————————

“So what are you gonna wear?” Dean yelled through the bathroom door. 

“I’m not going. My hobby isn’t watching you hit on girls in Christmas colors.”

Sam laid on the couch, feet where his head was supposed to be. The bloodrush was starting to hurt. 

  
“I know people that would pay to watch me make out with chicks.”

“Then take them.” 

His brother wasn’t a loner, he always had friends. Why didn’t he bring a wing man or something?

“Sammy.” Dean’s voice was stern, the door creaking open.

He wore a red pinstripe vest with green buttons in contrast to his regular leather car jacket. Underneath was a white long-sleeved shirt that barely hung over his gray slacks. His dress shoes were shined, polished recently. He liked to constantly oil them up similar to the care he gave to their guns. Dean Winchester made the outfit look like this was his casual dress. Sam didn’t even know his brother owned anything other than band t-shirts and ragged jeans.

Sam chuckled as he stood up from the couch.

“Chicks dig it. Here.” Dean held out some dress pants Sam wore two years ago to a choir concert and a pale pink striped dress shirt he probably picked up at the thrift store. Sam hung them on his arm while he looked for a belt. He gave up and pushed into the cramped bathroom. The pants were a size too small which translated into a tight squeeze and bare ankles. The shirt was a little loose hanging at about his hips and it was missing the top button. These were probably the nicest clothes he’d worn since sixth grade. He sighed and let Dean look him over. The laughter was kept to a minimum before really surveying the outfit. 

“You cannot wear tennis shoes. No brother of mine will look like some homeless kid.”

Sam thought he was doing pretty well considering they were next to homeless. 

“These are my only shoes,” he reasoned, not wanting to make an issue of it.

“You can wear a pair of mine. And put on some longer socks. C’mere.”

They stood face to face. Sam was becoming insecure. What was wrong?  
Dean shoved a hand in his neat brown hair and mussed it around. Sam tried to duck down without success. 

“Now the chicks will be all over you, stud.”

  
——————————————

  
Sam smeared dirty snow on the welcome mat that said “We’re on the good list.” Fifty teenagers lingered in spatters; some circled the punch bowl filled with egg nog, spiked no doubt. Between the drone of conversation, old Christmas songs came through. Dean ventured forward talking up the first blonde in sight. Sam stood awkwardly and surveyed the room; familiar faces— they went to the high school he was attending this month. He hoped no one noticed he was the singular freshman. Sure being Dean’s little brother could make this an easy time, but no one knew they’re related. He was in no hurry to inform them. He and his brother aren’t alike, but it’s a permanent idea people have. Being a twin must be some kind of identity hell. 

Sam made his way to a couch in a deserted living room. The live-action version of The Grinch was playing on the TV. He settled in and prepared to sit through this for the next hour. He felt the cushion next to him sink.

“Come on, Sammy, there’s people to meet.”

Sam sighed loudly and scooted further away.

“Well, I’ll check back on you in a bit and see if you’re ready for a good time.”

  
——————————————

  
Dean huffed annoyance when he walked away. He didn’t want to be here dressed like a dork. Christ, he just wanted Sam to do something fun for the holiday. The usual was anxious waiting for Dad to get home. In the last fifteen years, that happened twice. Both times he came home inebriated and bloody. All those other years he had to lie awake and listen to Sam cry himself to sleep. That was the most heartbreaking part of each year. Dad wasn’t coming home on time this year. 

Jessica Randez herself approached.

“Who’s that guy on the couch?”

“Oh, that’s Sam. He’s-“

_My brother. I’m the high school drop-out, and that’s my brother that you wouldn’t give the time of day if you knew we share a gene pool._

“He’s shy.”

“I think I’ve seen him around between classes. I’ll go talk to him. I just want everyone at the party to have a good time.”

“Alright.”

He watched from afar as she flashed concerned eyes at Sam and he tried to avoid it. He never liked when people expressed concern for him. She was really trying, mouth moving too fast for lip reading. She pointed at Dean, Sam’s eyes following her finger. Dean froze when his eyes met Sam’s, not sure what she was telling him. Sam swallowed hard and directed his gaze to a wall. 

Dean’s brain turned back on and remembered his bodily functions. He ran to the bathroom, past people on both sides of the hallway entry. Weirdos. 

  
——————————————

  
“Hey what’s up?” an unfamiliar voice asked. 

Sam turned to look in the direction of the voice. He knew she was going to ask what his issue was. 

“I just don’t do parties, you know? I didn’t really come here on a whim.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t have a good time. Did that Dean guy bring you?” She brushed a dark strand of hair from her face.

“Yeah.”

Sam fidgeted. Cue the questions about what Dean does in his free time or whatever girls always asked about his brother. Maybe he’d kissed her tonight; maybe he’d kissed her best friend. He was not in the mood to play twenty questions.

“Well, I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at him,” she pointed at him lurking in the corner.

Sam was about to have a panic attack. Did she mention anything she’d noticed to Dean? He looked pretty on edge. He lost focus and drifted away where this wasn’t really happening. He heard Dean’s shoes drag on the carpet.

“Look, you’ve got it all wrong. He just wants me to talk to people and stuff.”

 

“Well, yeah. He wants to show off the guy he’s into.” She smiled sincerely at him as he choked on his drink; Dean being into guys was the greatest joke he’d ever heard. 

“Whatever.” 

“You’ll work it out. I noticed you aren’t fond of the egg nog. There’s some soda in the kitchen. Down the hall and take a left.”

“Thanks.” He was happy to have some personal space again. He quickly shuffled past the clumps of people crowding the hallway. The door on the right swung in and someone stepped out, running right into Sam.

“I’m really sorry,” Sam mumbled to the person in the way.

“It’s alright,” Dean laughed. 

Everyone’s attention was directed at them. Sam looked around and caught green in his vision. They were under the mistletoe. Excellent.

“Uh, Dean,” he gestured above them. 

A silence settled on them as they realised the full implications of the situation.

“Dean too manly to kiss a guy? Come on!” yelled a girl in the crowd.

“I’ll just tell them we’re brothers. No one in th-“

“No it’s fine, Sammy.”

“Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.” The crowd hooted.

The music blared a jazzy version of “All I Want for Christmas is You.” 

Sam flushed when Dean scrutinized him, working out the best way to go about this. 

“Let’s give ‘em a show,” Dean cocked a grin.

He shuffled forward, taking Sam’s face in his hands and giving him a peck on the lips. Like a family kiss, nothing weird.

“That wasn’t a real kiss,” a male voice cried.

“OK, chill.” Dean held his hands up in surrender to the mob.

Sam leaned forward, fisting a hand in the undershirt. His lips brushed Dean’s and then Dean opened his mouth. Sam had kissed girls but never like this; he didn’t know what to do. He opened his mouth, allowing his brother to teach him. It was pleasant and wet and he never wanted to leave. He swore Dean’s tongue was going to end up down his throat. 

They pulled away after a couple minutes and greeted by cheers. Guys patting Dean on the back telling him he can get anyone he wants. Jessica smiled at Sam. They walked outside for privacy.

Dean shoved Sam against the side of the house and kissed him the second time in his life.

  
——————————————

  
Dean felt Sam grinding against his leg during their brief make-out session. He wasn’t really sure if this was the time or place; he was worn down from the social scene.

“You wanna go home?” Dean whispered to Sam, keys in hand.

“Yeah.”

  
——————————————

  
The drive home was silent. Inside, they toed off their shoes and Dean shrugged off his vest. They sat on the couch without a word and settled on some family movie. Sam soon fell into a light sleep. Dean slid his hand into Sam’s and squeezed lightly. A peaceful night is all he wanted and he got it for sure. He watched his brother doze with loving eyes. A loud commercial break jarred him and Dean tried to take his hand back, but Sam pulled him closer.

“Dean, I had a good time at the party.”

“Good. That’s what matters.”

Sam closed the gap between them and kissed gentle, unsure if Dean would react. They fell into a rhythm of gentle kissing and nipping. Sam was lay flat on the couch, Dean straddling him. Dean unbuttoned the dress shirt and suckled the skin, leaving hickeys. He liked the way Sam leaned into each one, savoring the possessive marks. 

Dean collapsed forward on Sam’s chest and paced his breathing to match Sam’s, slower and slower until they both were asleep. 

  
——————————————

  
When Sam came to, Dean had his arms wrapped around him and a knee between his legs. It was cold everywhere else in the room; he could see snow drifts reaching the windows. Dean’s weight was getting heavier by the second.

“Dean.”

“Sammy? You okay?” 

“Yeah, I just gotta get up.”

“Oh sorry.” He rolled off the couch with a thump. 

“So, presents?”

“Dad’s not here.” A pout screwed up Sam’s face.

“Never stopped us before.”

Dean trotted off to his room where he’d stashed the gifts. Sam hid his behind the granola bars where neither John or Dean would ever trespass. 

  
——————————————

  
“Alright, you open one first,” Dean ordered. He’d never admit it, but he really wanted to see the reactions to his gifts. He didn’t even care what he got. 

Both boys had changed into pajama bottoms and t-shirts. In front of Sam were two perfectly wrapped gifts topped with a bow each. Dean’s gifts were both in paper bags because Sam couldn’t wrap them undetected. 

Sam picked out the larger one first. He carefully pulled the tape off the edges and slid the object out. He did everything so careful like that as if it had feelings. He was probably going to keep the wrapping paper for a project or use it to wrap gifts next year.

Sam turned a black leather bound book over in his hands. He read the cover meaningfully.

“The Complete Collection of Edgar Allan Poe. Wow. Thanks Dean. Finally something to do on road trips. Your turn.”

He turned a paper bag upside down and shook. Little clanks and clatters filled the air. 

“Oh Jesus, Sam.”

The floor was covered with various little trinkets. Four key chains boasting the names of bands Dean liked, a couple cutesy bumper stickers, and tons of beef jerky. 

“When?”

“I’ve scoped every gas station we’ve stopped at. That’s the creme de la creme.”

Most people would think they were terrible gifts, but it was a testament to the things Sam picked up on about his brother.

Sam began with the tape again this time, but Dean interrupted.

“Dude, who cares. It’s wrapping paper. Rip it!”

He tore into the paper like a normal kid now. The look on Sam’s face made Dean laugh until it hurt.

“Kama Sutra oh my god. What the hell?” His face was cranberry red. He was obviously thanking everything holy their Dad was missing this part.

Before he could be bitched out, Dean dumped the contents of the second bag out. Shiny silver gleamed on the carpet. A ring and a weird black thing. The ring was untouched except the thin line engraved all the way around the center. He held the black thing up to examine closer. Still no idea.

“What’s this?”

“Push the button.”

Knives came out both sides.

“Dude. Is this a batarang?”

“Yeah, I made it and that ring in art metals. I thought you could use it when we go on hunts and stuff.”

“This is the best gift ever. So does this make you Robin or Nightwing?”

  
**The End**


	12. Please Have Snow and Mistletoe by deannawincester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author: christmascest (deannawincester)
> 
> Wordcount: 2,205
> 
> Summary: They may not have a tree, or presents, or snow, but Dean is bound and determined that Sam not have to suffer through one more bleak, miserably forgettable Christmas.
> 
> Genre: Teencest, schmoop with a sprinkling of smut
> 
> Warnings: docking

Sam and Dean Winchester had experienced one perfect Christmas in their short lives.

It had happened when Dean was nearly thirteen and Sam was nine; they stopped in Sioux Falls to borrow one of Bobby’s books and ended up staying for the entire holiday. It had been a chance event—there was no way John would have intentionally allowed them to be snowed in at Bobby’s—but it was perfect nonetheless. The snow in Sioux Falls turned the salvage yard into a series of charming white hillocks and Bobby’s house into a cozy haven full of firelight and the smell of the pine tree in the living room.

 Sam and Dean hung slightly misshapen red felt stockings, pulled out of the attic along with the dusty Christmas ornaments, above the hearth. Bobby kept a pot of water full of orange peels and cinnamon simmering on a back stove burner, making the whole house smell sweet and tangy. And on Christmas Eve Bobby even dressed as Santa—although, granted, that simply involved exchanging his trucker cap for a cheap Santa hat and parading about in a set of red and green plaid flannel pajamas, and suspenders printed with gold jingle bells to keep the pillow stuffed into his pajama shirt from falling out.

That night the boys had fallen asleep side by side beneath the lights of the Christmas tree, full of hot chocolate and marshmallows, surrounded by the fuzzy melody of a Bing Crosby vinyl.

Christmas morning they had woken to find themselves snuggled up together beneath one of Karen’s homemade quilts that had not seen the light of day in the boys’ lifetimes, partially buried beneath a modest collection of gifts, piled precariously around them as they slept. The gifts were humble—mostly useful presents: gun oil and protective talismans—but each was neatly wrapped and marked “from: Santa” and each of the boys had an orange in the toe of their stocking. They had a real Christmas dinner that year, complete with two types of pie.

But that was five—almost six—Christmases ago. Each of the five Christmases since had been held up against the perfect Christmas; each fell woefully short.

The prospect of the upcoming Christmas looked to be one of the lowest in those six years.

Dean obediently took his duffel from the Impala’s trunk into the Auburndale, Florida hotel room. Sam, however, remained standing by the car, watching as John and Dean trekked back and forth between the car and hotel.

“Sam, hop to it,” John barked.

Sam turned a slow glare on his father. “How long are we going to stay here?”

John paused, a duffel swung over his shoulder. “As long as the job takes. You know that.”

“Yeah, but how long?”

“Why do you care?”

Dean cringed, hanging back. There were only two more days until Christmas and John had obviously forgotten his promise, made under the influence of heavily alcoholic peppermint eggnog Christmas Eve the year before, that they would have a real Christmas this year, which for Sam meant snow at the very least.

“It’s almost Christmas, Dad!”

“And?”

“You swore we’d have snow this year and a  _real_  Christmas!”

John voice became sharp. “We have more important things going on right now, Sam. We’ll find you some snow in a few weeks.”

“You’re a fucking liar!”

“Samuel Winchester, you watch your mouth!”

But Sam had already turned; he was already gone. He didn’t come back for so long that Dean was afraid John might go out looking for him. Sam had grown so volatile in the last few months that if John went looking the only possible result was a physical fight and Sam had started carrying a skinning knife strapped to his leg at all times. Dean had no desire to stitch them both back up in the aftermath. Even if John sent him out after Sam, Dean was not sure that he could convince Sam to come back without one of them sustaining major injuries.

In the end, Sam came back before it was even really dark. He was silent for the rest of the evening. He retreated to their shared bed early and slept turned away from Dean.

He was gone by the time Dean woke up the next morning, no doubt scouting out the local library.

Dean lay in bed pretending to be asleep until John left. In a way, he was as angry at John as Sam. Christmas itself was not as important to him, but so much depended on this Christmas going well for Sam. Dean had been planning for months, and the idea had started before Christmas the year before.

The only thing Sam had asked for that year was a better Christmas the next—one with snow—and Dean had decided that Sam should have one more perfect Christmas while he was still young enough to enjoy them.

Dean meant this Christmas to be special. Maybe not as warm and homey as their Christmas at Bobby’s—because Dean had no idea where to get the trappings that had made it so: the stockings, the musty ornaments, one of Karen’s quilts—but it was meant to be special. With snow.

Of course, when Dean was completely honest, the plan was not wholly unselfish. He and Sam had begun growing into something new right before Sam hit this petulant stage. It was just little exploratory touches and a few chaste kisses when John was gone or the lights were out, but lately Dean had grown cautious. Sam was angry so often now. He was as likely to tell Dean to fuck off as he was to shove him against the mattress and rut against him until they were both sticky and breathless. Dean wanted so much more.

If anything had a chance of turning Sam’s mood, bringing him back to Dean, happy to touch and be touched, but much more importantly really happy, it was Christmas.

Dean had hoped John would follow through on his promise that they would stay somewhere with snow, but he had come up with a couple alternatives. He had too much experience with John’s promises.

There was a FedEx store just down the street—Dean had caught a glimpse of it as they drove into town. He’d hit there first and then check out the nearby gas station and dollar store. With any sort of luck, he should find everything he needed and be back in time to set up before Sam got back.

He had to lay the charm on pretty thick to get the FedEx lady to sell to him. The tree he ended up with was really an aluminum centerpiece, and he had to steal a fan from the hotel lobby because no one was selling fans this late in December, but Dean made it back in record time.

Dean turned the air conditioner on first thing; he needed plenty of time for it to get cold before Sam came back. He dragged the round, wobbly table into the center of the room and put the aluminum tree on it. He hung tinsel in loops on the walls and set the lobby fan in one of the corners. It would not look like real snow, but Dean prayed Sam would appreciate it as he layered the blades of the ceiling fan with white Styrofoam packing peanuts and dumped the rest of them in drifts on the floor.

He debated about hanging the mistletoe. It had been a chance find—the last one at the dollar store—but in the end, Dean hung it in plain sight. If Sam wanted to use it, he would; otherwise they could both pretend it wasn’t there.

Dean turned on the fan on the floor, oscillating so that it blew the packing peanuts over the threadbare carpeting, and switched on the bedside lamp.

It was freezing in the hotel room by the time Sam finally came back. Dean found himself surprisingly grateful for the woolen hat and gloves he had picked up to complete the effect.

Sam walked in and switched on the overhead light, starting the fan. Styrofoam peanuts began drifting down from the blades. If you squinted, it almost did look like the hotel room was full of snow.

“Sam, where’re your gloves? You’ll catch cold like this.” Dean felt like an idiot saying the words and hoping Sam would play along, but Sam didn’t protest as Dean wrapped a thick scarf around his neck and put a beanie and gloves on him, staring at the Styrofoam snow that fluttered around the room.

“What is this?”

Dean swallowed hard. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you any real snow, Sammy.”

Then Sam grinned and, fuck, his smile was everything Dean had ever needed. He leaned in to kiss one of Sam’s dimples reverently.

“I just wanted to give you Christmas.”

Sam turned and kissed him, lingering. Both of their noses were cold. “It’s perfect, Dean.”

In the end, they didn’t need the mistletoe. Sam drew the chain on the hotel door and dragged Dean to their shared bed.

They wriggled down under the blankets—it really was cold—and snuggled close to each other. Dean moved slowly, purposefully. He was determined to go as far as Sam would let him. He plied Sam’s mouth with his tongue, tasting something cinnamon-y he had eaten, running his fingers through Sam’s hair to angle the kiss, drawing Sam closer, kissing him more deeply.

Dean jumped when Sam went for his belt.

“What?” Sam smirked. “You thought you were the only one who wanted this?”

Dean grinned. They pressed together, rubbing, touching each other gently, as if they had never done this before, as if everything was new.

Eventually Dean got up and turned on the heater, kicking off his jeans fully. He turned back to the bed and watched appreciatively as Sam stripped off his clothes.

“What?” Sam’s voice was petulant, but he was still smiling that smile—that smile that only Dean gave him.

“You’re so pretty, Sammy.”

Sam blushed, flushing red and hot all the way down to his collarbone. “Don’t be an ass, Dean.”

Dean got on the bed, walking up to Sam on his knees. He lifted Sam’s face, making sure Sam could see the truth in his face. “I mean it. You’re beautiful.”

He drew Sam up to his knees and pressed against him, grinding slowly, pressing their cocks together between them. Sam clutched his arms, digging his nails in and hissing at the sensation.

Dean laid a trail of kisses down Sam’s jaw, to his ear, and then to the hot skin of his shoulder, as he reached between them to jack them together.

“Dean!” Sam gasped.

“’s okay, Sammy,” Dean murmured, drawing his thumb over the sensitive head of Sam’s cock.

He intended to ask permission. He’d wanted to try this for a while, knowing Sam was uncircumcised, but they had never got this far. He intended to ask permission, but looking at Sam’s flushed face and feeling the searing heat of his body against him, Dean knew he didn’t have to.

Dean stroked Sam’s cock slowly, allowing the foreskin to slip all the way up before drawing it back down again. Precome beaded there, slick on the taut skin. Dean angled the tip of his own cock, pressing it against Sam’s, and then drew Sam’s foreskin up again, over the head of his own cock.

Dean gasped at the tightness as Sam’s foreskin closed over the head of his cock; Sam’s hips twitched forward and he moaned.

“F-fuck,  _Dean_ ,”

Dean had not anticipated the intensity of the sensation, his cock pressed tight and  _hot_  against Sam’s, inside Sam, a part of Sam. He stroked them—one hand on himself and the other on Sam, holding them together and increasing the friction—moaning in unison with Sam.

“Feels so good, Sammy,” he whispered.

Sam pressed his forehead, slick with sweat, against Dean’s shoulder, arms wrapped around Dean, trembling. “Love you, Dean,”

And Dean came, the surge breaking the seal on his cock, it slid out of Sam’s foreskin slowly, the sensation making Dean shiver. He felt his own come against him for a moment and then Sam jerked away, his own orgasm ripping through him.

Dean leaned heavily against Sam, working them both until they were spent, panting against each other, sticky with their release. They collapsed onto the bed and snuggled under the quilt, Sam’s head tucked beneath Dean’s chin and arms wrapped around each other just the way they had slept beneath Bobby’s tree on their last perfect Christmas.

Dean did not know what to say, didn’t know how to return Sam’s sentiment without sounding trite and girly, didn’t know whether he should recommend that they go clean up or demand that they stay warm in bed forever. But, in the end, he didn’t need to say anything: it was Sam who broke the silence.

 “Merry Christmas.” He whispered the words against Dean’s chest, so low that they were nearly inaudible and all the more intimate for that.

Dean, suddenly fighting back tears that had seemingly come from nowhere, kissed Sam’s forehead and returned, “Merry Christmas, Sam.”

Later, when Sam was asleep, Dean cleaned up the makeshift snow, hid the mistletoe, and unlocked the door so John wouldn’t have to break it down. He hung their stockings up and filled them with modest presents, all bearing tags that read “from: Santa.” Then he crawled back in bed and snuggled close to Sam, drifting off to sleep.


	13. Woodsmoke and Gun Oil by R. Taylor (thedisreputabledog) TIED FOR FIRST PLACE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Woodsmoke and Gun Oil
> 
> Author: R. Taylor (thedisreputabledog)
> 
> Word count: 6,344
> 
> Pairings: Sam/Dean, Sam/Jess (remembered)
> 
> Genre: Sex, cuteness, some bittersweet memories 
> 
> Summary: Sam and Dean rekindle a dormant part of their relationship during a Christmas blizzard (set during Season 2).

For all the hunts they had seen over the years, somehow this was their first blizzard. Sam breathed on his cupped hands as he trudged down the snowy trail after his brother, bitterly wishing for the thousandth time that he had proper gloves. Hard to fire a gun in ski gloves, yes, but it was just as hard with frozen fingers. The worst of the snow had not even arrived yet. This small town already had a foot of snow on the ground from regular winter accumulation and the forecast predicted another twelve to fifteen inches by tomorrow night. The locals were used to this kind of weather so the roads were well plowed and salted for now, but the going would get rough before long.

Sam followed Dean through the door of the small cabin and the two men stamped the snow off their boots. “Dean, seriously, why are we here? We’ve always agreed Bigfoot isn’t real. And the yeti is from Asia so even if those are real, there’s no reason for one to be prowling around the north woods of Wisconsin. A desperate grizzly is so not our division, and there aren’t really more options than that. I mean, what, a frost giant? Come on.”

Dean glared at him from where he sat on the wooden floor pulling off his boots. “Sammy, we’ve been over this. I’m willing to wager the only Sasquatch in this town is you, but something is eating people, and it sounds like our kind of thing, and at this point I am not risking my car out in that shit. We might as well clean house while we’re here. You got a problem with that?”

“Okay, okay,” Sam sighed, putting his hands up. “I’m just saying, we don’t have a lot to go on here and it’s fucking cold.”

“Not my fault you’ve gone soft from four years in Palo Alto. Suck it up, cupcake. We’ve got work to do.”

Grumbling under his breath, Sam put a new log in the fireplace and rekindled the coals of last night’s fire.   
  
***  
  
After a few hours of mostly silent research, Sam thought he finally had something useful. “So, get this. There’s a Russian story about the Snegurochka, the snow maiden. Sometimes she’s a miracle made out of snow by a childless old couple, sometimes she’s the daughter of the Frost King. Either way, she goes looking for love and then, uh, melts when she finds it.”

“Melts?”

“Yeah. Seems the warmth of true love is too much for her cold heart.” Sam made a face as he paraphrased.

“Okay, but does she eat people?”

“Well, not exactly. At least, I haven’t found any lore that says she does. Yet.”

“Sam, people are disappearing. All of them are turning up later drained of blood, others have been gnawed on. Does that sound like a frigid bitch who just needs a good lay to you?”

“No, but none of our witnesses noticed giant footprints either which rules out everything else I can think of. Look, the stories all say the Snegurochka has no blood. Maybe the ‘looking for love’ thing is just a metaphor or a corruption, and she’s more like a vampire, needing to feed on human life to stay corporeal.” He shrugged. “Maybe animals got to some of the bodies after that, and that’s why they were gnawed. The coroner said there wasn’t anything weird about the bite marks, and I think I agree with her.”

“You’re really set on this Smegma Crotch thing.”

“No, Dean, gross!” Sam threw his pen at his brother and Dean caught it and threw it right back. Sam misjudged the distance and the pen hit him square in the forehead. Dean burst out laughing.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“Anyway,” Sam continued pointedly through Dean’s chuckles, “Do you have a better idea?”

“No,” Dean admitted. “So how do we catch this frosty chick?”

  
***  
  
“This is fucking stupid, Dean,” Sam growled into the phone.

“We threw for it and I won, so bite me. Besides, you’ve got that whole puppy eyes thing going on. I’m sure you can charm the panties off one little ice witch.”

The phone beeped and the call went dead. Sam resisted the urge to hurl it into a snowbank. They had plotted the disappearances to an open-air skating rink in town, a kind of courtyard that was flooded and frozen in the winter. The last time he had been ice skating was with Jess, and he had been terrible at it. How attractive he could be to a snow maiden while falling on his ass over and over, he had no idea.

He paid the entry and the skate rental fees, doing his best despite his mood to give a genuine smile to the older woman working the counter. She wished him a happy Christmas Eve and he looked at his watch in surprise. Sure enough, there was a twenty-four in the little date window. How had Christmas snuck up on him so fast? Luckily he already had a gift for his brother hidden in the bottom of his bag where Dean probably would not find it too early.

Sitting down on a bench to lace up his skates, he thought back to his last Christmas with Jess. They went to a party at her office. She wore a stunning green dress, and she had bought him a red vest to wear under his suit jacket, so they would coordinate but not be “too matchy-matchy” as she liked to say. He had a little too much eggnog and she brought him home early, laughing as he slurred declarations of love into her smooth neck and planted devoted kisses on her collarbone. When she perched on the arm of the couch and pulled the hem of her dress up over the tops of her stockings, he swept her up and tumbled her backwards onto the cushions, buried his face between her legs and licked and sucked until she came. Then he crawled up her body to nuzzle at her breasts, singing Jingle Bells in a silly voice until she pushed him off and ran for the bedroom laughing, laughing, and they made love again before falling asleep wrapped around each other.

Sam barely saw the ice passing by underneath his feet as he skated deliberately along the rail, lost in memories. That party was two years gone now, his love burned and buried before Christmas came again. His father gone too now, not that Dad had ever been around for many holidays. At least he still had Dean. He smiled through his tears, feeling a warm glow in his chest. Their life on the road was far from perfect, but despite all the death and weird shit they faced on a weekly basis, and despite how much Dean seemed to enjoy getting on his nerves, it gave him some peace to face it with his brother. And Dean was going to love his present.

Abruptly he realized he was alone in the rink. Even the employees were nowhere in sight. He stopped himself against the rail with a thump, rubbed at his eyes and searched his surroundings. He was alone—no, wait. Across the courtyard, a figure moved in the shadows behind the kiosk. A cold wind emerged from that direction, ruffling his hair where it stuck out of his hat. Keeping one hand on the rail, he reached for his gun with the other, but he kept it pointed down at his side. No need to scare some innocent pedestrian if he was mistaken

“Hello?” No answer but the wind. He raised his gun, but damn, it was going to suck if he had to shoot on skates.

“Such strong emotions…your heart blazes.” A woman’s voice, and it came from behind him. He spun around and tried to get his gun up but fell hard to the ice instead. A pained curse died on his lips as he saw the woman above him. Her skin and hair were blue like pictures he had seen of the inside of a glacier, her body wrapped in a cloak of white fur and velvet. She smiled and reached down for him, and Sam’s hand rose to meet hers, her gaze capturing his. “Let me taste your love,” she murmured. Everything seemed to slow down and take on the clarity of fine glass.

“Sammy!” Dean’s shout was his only warning as Sam felt strong arms hooked under his, dragging him backwards. His whole body felt cold, especially where his lower half scraped the ice, and he shook his head vigorously to clear it while Dean shouted worried questions into his face.

“D-Dean, I’m fine. She didn’t hurt me. What are you doing here?”

“Keeping an eye on your dumb ass. I’m not about to let you get drained by a vampopsicle.” Reassured that Sam was in one piece, Dean turned back the way they had come. “Son of a bitch! She’s gone. Now what?”

“She was…” Sam frowned and climbed unsteadily to his feet, holding onto Dean’s arm for balance. He stowed his gun. “She was looking for something. For someone. Maybe the thing about looking for love isn’t about the blood after all, maybe the blood is just a substitute for what she really wants. Maybe she’s looking for her mate.”

“Mate? You mean there could be more of these things? That’s just great.”

“No, I don’t think so. In all the stories, the Snegurochka falls in love with a human.”

“Even better. What the fuck do we do with that?”

Sam’s only answer was another shake of his head. He could have sworn he heard…singing? He tugged on Dean’s jacket and pointed across the rink to where a warm light had begun to glow, the sound of music rising on the wind as the light brightened. Dean jerked his head in the opposite direction, and Sam saw that the snow maiden was back, and also watching the light.

The last thing either man expected to see was a young black woman walking out onto the ice, singing softly in what sounded like Russian to Sam’s ears.

“Golubushka,” the snow maiden said, gliding to meet the woman.

“Lady, get out of here!” Dean called, moving as if to run toward the pair. He did not get far because Sam grabbed hold of the back of his jacket.

“Dean, wait. I think she knows what she’s doing.” Dean glared and kept going, easily dragging Sam behind him because he was still wearing skates. It was either let go and let Dean get in the middle of the scene unfolding ahead of them, or tag along looking like a complete fool and hope to at least slow him down. “Dean,” he hissed, “will you stop for a second and just listen, for fuck’s sake. Look at them. Really look.”

His brother stopped short. Sam slammed into his back, letting all his breath out in a surprised huff. Only Dean’s firmly planted boots and Sam’s throwing his arms quickly around the other’s torso stopped the both of them going down in a heap. “Easy, tiger,” Dean said, one hand coming up to grip Sam’s forearm where it crossed his chest.

The two women in front of them had clasped hands with each other and seemed to be talking, though Sam could not hear their words. The snow maiden was smiling. Although the newcomer wore a more sorrowful expression, the love shining from her face was unmistakable. They drew closer and the snow maiden’s lips touched her companion’s.

“Whoa,” and Sam could hear the smirk on Dean’s face even standing behind him. Luckily, he refrained from further comment as the human woman clasped the snow maiden to her and deepened their kiss. The glow that seemed to emanate from the woman began to bleed into the snow maiden where they touched, golden light spilling down into her body from her mouth. As she filled with light like honey filling a jar, she also grew paler. The snow maiden was fading.

When all that remained of the Snegurochka was that light, it flowed back towards the other woman, gathering together at a point on her chest until it suddenly winked out entirely, plunging the rink into shadow. Sam let go of Dean and pressed on his eyes, which did nothing to erase the bright afterimages from his vision. Dean was already shuffling forward and Sam followed carefully on his skates.  
“What was that?” Dean demanded of the now lone woman.

She turned tearful eyes toward him. “My beloved. Thank you for not hurting her.” She toyed with something around her neck and as he grew closer Sam saw it was a necklace with some kind of flower pendant on it.

“Not hurting her? She killed three people.”

“I know. It was all my fault. I wanted more time with her and I didn’t know…”

As the woman trailed off, Sam noticed the tears on her cheeks and interjected, “I’m Sam, and this is my brother Dean. Let’s sit down while we talk.” They returned to the bench by the empty kiosk and Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly while Sam changed out of his skates. 

“My name is Marina. She—is special.”

“Snegurochka?” Dean asked. Her eyes widened.

“Yes, Snegurochka. She is part of my family’s legacy, and my companion since I was a teenager. But only for a short time each year.” Sam searched his pockets and offered her a crumpled napkin, which she accepted and used to wipe her eyes.

“She melts?”

Marina nodded. “My ancestor found a way to keep her from melting entirely when they fell in love.”

“And the people drained of blood?”

“Can you imagine seeing the person you love for only a few weeks each year? I couldn’t send her away right before Christmas. I begged her to stay just a few more days. I didn’t know the cost would be so high.”

“I don’t understand.” Sam frowned. “There’s a huge blizzard about to dump on this town. Why was she at risk of melting, and how would warm human blood fix it?”

Marina shrugged helplessly. “Look, the weirdest thing about my life has always been that my girlfriend lives in a glass snowdrop eleven months out of the year. I don’t know how it works. It’s just my life.”

“People died. I can’t let you just swan around with a deadly—” Dean started in, but Sam put a hand on his arm and leaned over him.

“No, wait. It’s not the weather. Love, that’s the key. She said she wanted to taste it.” His voice grew more animated. “The first victim, it was his tenth wedding anniversary. And the second, she was on her way home from her boyfriend’s house. Yesterday, the last victim, he had a stack of love letters in his pocket. And earlier when she came for me I was thinking about Jess and D—” Sam choked on his next words, shooting a stricken look at his brother. Dean sent back his best “what the fuck, dude” grimace. “And, uh, and that must have been what attracted her to them, and me.”

“What, like some kind of romantic bat signal?”

“Yeah, something like that. Marina, it’s your love that,” he gestured at her necklace, “calls her back, right?”

“Yes. The song I was singing is an old Russian love song. It’s part of the magic that sustains her.”

“Okay, so if she doesn’t have blood of her own, and she needs love to survive but it is also her weakness, that must be why she needed to take the blood of people who were also deeply in love.”

“Give her some extra gas, she gets another day in the world?”

“That’s my best guess.”

Sam reached out for Marina’s hand. “Look, Marina. I know it’s hard. God knows what I would have done for more time with Jess.” He knew exactly what he had done for more time with Dean. “But whatever this magic is, it has pretty specific parameters and not following them got innocent people killed. Is that really worth it?”

Marina’s eyes met his then, and he almost fell back from the hardness in them. “I regret those people’s deaths. They didn’t deserve to be dragged into this. But I do not regret a single minute of the extra days I got with her.” She stood. “I don’t even know why I’m still here talking to you. Merry Christmas,” she tossed over her shoulder as she walked away, somehow making the cheerful phrase sound as close to a swear word as he had ever heard.

Dean got up to go after her, reaching for his gun, but Sam stopped him again.

“What the hell, Sammy? We can’t let her just walk away with a goddamn vampire in a bottle.”

“Dean, the Snegurochka’s gone for the year. Are you going to rip the pendant off her neck at gunpoint? On Christmas Eve? We’ll keep our ears out next year and if something like this happens again we know where to find her and we can put a stop to it for good.” He thumped his brother on the shoulder. “Come on, Dean. Let’s just go back to the cabin. The weather’s getting worse and I’d rather not end up on the morning news because my ass froze to this bench.”

He dropped the skates behind the counter and started walking. When he heard Dean’s growl of frustration and shuffling footsteps to keep up, he smiled.  
  
***  
  
The weather continued to worsen as they made their way back to the cabin. Not their usual accommodations, but the options in the area were limited and Dean had pounced on the chance to keep the car out of the snow in the attached shed. Even after Sam pointed out that they would still have to dig their way out to the road regardless and the desk guy informed them that the available cabins had only one bed, Dean just scoffed and stroked the steering wheel, crooning that he would take care of his baby. All Sam could do was roll his eyes.

Once he had his boots and coat off, Sam ended up face down on the bed, limbs spread wide, while Dean poked at the fireplace. His mind raced. It was his memories of Jess that had drawn the snow maiden to him, right? It was just coincidence that she had only appeared once his thoughts had turned to his brother. That stuff she said about “tasting love,” it had to be focused on the romantic kind, given the victim pattern and the lore and everything Marina had said.

“Dean,” he said, voice muffled by the quilt.

“Hm?” When Sam did not continue, Dean must have turned to look at him because the next thing he felt was a wad of newspaper hitting him on the head. “You better not be getting your feet all over my pillow.”

Sam shuffled around on the bed until he was oriented properly and stared up at the ceiling. He heard Dean humming some song to himself and felt that warmth building in his chest again. The feeling was not unfamiliar, but for the first time in years he let himself dwell in it. When they started hunting together again, after Jess, part of him had hated how easily he slipped back into Dean’s passenger seat. The little brother who almost got away before his nightmares tracked him down and dragged him home again.

Home. He turned his head to look at his brother, who was now sprawled in a chair with a beer and a smile, watching the snow. Dean and that car were his home all right, and as much as that thought sometimes terrified him, it was shoulder to shoulder with Dean where he felt safest.

“Budge up, Sasquatch.” Sam grunted and obligingly pulled his arms and legs in to make room for Dean, who flopped onto the bed next to him. Thankfully there was more than enough room in the large bed for two. He rolled onto his side and found himself studying Dean, how his hand gripped the bottle, how his lips parted to take another sip, how his other hand absentmindedly rubbed his thigh. The warmth in Sam’s chest moved lower, curling into his belly. To be perfectly honest, that was not an unfamiliar feeling around his brother either. Until the Snegurochka called his attention to it, however, he had never considered, at least not since—

“Earth to spaceman Sammy,” Dean said, and poked him in the nose. Sam reacted automatically and snapped at Dean’s finger with his teeth. Apparently Dean was not expecting that response because Sam easily caught the finger in his mouth. They froze like that for a moment, eyes locked together, before Dean cleared his throat.

“If you’re that hungry, man, there’s leftovers in the fridge.”

Sam released his finger and chuckled weakly. Dean made a big show of wiping his hand off on Sam’s shirt. Was it his imagination or did Dean let his hand linger a little longer than necessary?

This was ridiculous, Sam was being ridiculous, it was the end of a ridiculous day, and if he wanted to make it through the next day sleeping in the same bed with his brother, he needed to stop himself from going down this path right the hell now. Still, Dean did not jump up immediately like Sam half-expected.   
  
***  
  
They spent the rest of the evening watching Love, Actually and A Christmas Story on television while the snow drifted outside. The fire was warm and the bed was comfortable, and Sam started to doze off during the beginning of Scrooged. He half-dreamed his way through a dozen memories: cramming for finals in the library, the first time he kissed a girl, killing a werewolf on his fourteenth birthday, his actual first kiss which was with Dean, reading a dog-eared copy of The Hobbit in the backseat while Dean and Dad discussed beheading techniques in the front.

When he felt someone stroking the hair away from his face, he thought he was still dreaming. He smiled lazily and snuggled down deeper into the bed. The hand on his forehead hesitated, then continued. It felt good. Sam let out a contented sigh as the hand traced his cheek and nose before going back to his hair, almost petting him. It was something Dean used to do when they were kids and it always soothed him; his scalp was quite sensitive and his brother was gentle and warm.

Sam’s eyes fluttered open and came to rest on Dean staring down at him. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Dean started to pull his hand away but Sam followed with his head, butting gently against Dean’s hip.

“Don’t stop.” He smiled up at his brother, who hesitated again before the corner of his mouth quirked up and he returned to stroking Sam’s hair. Dean dug a little deeper, getting his fingernails into the motion, and Sam fairly arched into the feeling.

“I forgot you’re like a cat sometimes. A fucking huge one.” Sam tried to make a purring sound in response but couldn’t keep a straight face and ended up laughing his way further into Dean’s lap. The laugh broke off into a gasp when Dean tightened his fingers and gave his hair a tug.

“Are you trying to start something, Sammy?” Dean asked, small smile but serious eyes.

Sam met his eyes with matching intensity. “I’m not the one pushing buttons here.”

“Oh, you mean this one?” Dean tightened his grip again, bringing heat to Sam’s cheeks. Dean licked his lips and Sam bit his own, and then Sam was sitting up and grabbing the back of his brother’s neck and growling into his mouth and kissing him, and Dean was kissing him back.

Sam had forgotten how amazing Dean’s mouth felt. He had been thirteen the first time, just a curious kid with an amused and indulgent older sibling; he had been nearly eighteen the last time, that same kid playing at adulthood. That was two lifetimes ago now.

“Hey.” Dean broke off the kiss and tapped Sam on the temple. “Where’d you go? If we’re going to do this, I need you here with me.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry. Just…memories, you know.”

“Well, you’ve filled out a bit since last time.” Dean poked him in the chest. Sam grabbed his hand and pulled him in for another kiss. “Yep, much less like kissing a coat rack now,” Dean mumbled into his mouth, chest vibrating with a chuckle.

“I’ll show you coat rack, jerk,” and Sam pushed Dean’s shoulders back against the headboard and straddled his legs, pressing insistently into his brother’s mouth with his tongue. After a few intense minutes, Dean managed to breathe out his usual response, but it sounded more like a prayer than a curse. Sam could feel Dean growing hard underneath him, and he was getting there fast himself. They had never gone much farther than this before, one or the other always tapping out or some other interruption cropping up, and Sam wondered if it would be the same this time.

Dean’s lips were soft and he smelled of woodsmoke and gun oil. Sam smoothed his hands over Dean’s chest and was rewarded with a loud moan when his fingers latched onto Dean’s nipples through his shirt.

He grinned. “Dude.”

“Yeah, I’m sensitive there. What’s your,” another moan as Sam bit into his neck, “point?”

“Just reveling in my magical powers.” When Sam pulled Dean’s shirt up and started to suck on one nipple while rolling the other between his fingers, Dean’s whole body arched off the bed and his hand flew up to clench in Sam’s hair. Then it was Sam’s turn to groan. Even now, they still knew each other’s hot spots.

He moved his hands to Dean’s back, tracing the scars there as he drew his brother’s shirt off, sucking lightly on his neck. When he reached for the waistband of Dean’s pants, he hesitated a little before undoing the button. Would his brother pull away? Would Dad come through the door, returning from death somehow at the least opportune moment? A sudden image of their father covered in snow and bellowing like a yeti at the sight of his two boys in bed together flashed into his mind and he had to chuckle despite himself. His nervousness built the laugh into a stupid giggle and he could feel his control slipping away.

Dean grabbed his wrist and Sam managed to catch his breath. He searched Dean’s face for an indication that he had gone too far, but all he found was a smile and started to relax. After a bit of fumbling, Dean’s pants were open and Sam’s fingers wrapped around his brother’s cock. He had seen it many times before, mostly by accident in living on top of each other for so long, but actually touching it was new. Shorter than his own but thicker, it felt heavy and velvety in his hand. He stroked gently at first, happy for the chance to explore. Hearing a small growl of frustration, he increased his pace, dug his fingers into Dean’s chest with his other hand, and smiled when Dean’s eyes closed and his mouth dropped open.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time,” Sam murmured. “You never let me before.”

Dean rolled one of his eyes open. “You were just a kid, and my little brother. I’m supposed to take care of you, not corrupt you.”

“What about all those girls in high school? You didn’t seem to mind corrupting them.”

“Hey, I never fucked freshmen when I was a senior. All the guys that did that were douches. Dean Winchester is many things, but he is not a douche.” Dean settled back into the pillows with his hands behind his head like he had just delivered the last word on the subject and closed his eye again.

Quickly, Sam slid off Dean’s lap and took his cock into his mouth. The smooth, warm weight of it on his tongue and the choked noise this forced out of his brother set fire to his senses. This was not the first time he had given a blow job; for a little while in college he had been that guy who would take any dare after three drinks (he had never had to pay for his own booze again once this fact got around); and Jess had a pretty blue strap-on that she loved him going down on. But it was his first time with Dean, and he was a little out of practice. He took his time, savoring the taste and scent, so different from kissing the rest of his body but still unmistakably Dean.

“God, Sam. Where did you,” Dean groaned, and Sam raised his eyes to see that he had his hands covering his face. Pleased with the effect he was having, he hummed happily around as much of Dean’s cock as he could fit in his mouth. When he pulled back to suck on the head and pressed his tongue to the underside, he felt Dean’s fingers tangle in his hair again.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this exact view. Fuck. How much I’ve wanted to pull open your pretty mouth and shove my cock inside, get all that stupid hair messed up and sweaty and mine. One of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life, waiting for this. You don’t even know. Sammy. Goddamn.”

Dean’s heated voice washed over him, and the warmth of it pooled in his own cock. He moved one hand down to press on the spot just behind Dean’s balls and the other up to mark Dean’s chest with his fingernails before grasping at a nipple. As he sucked and stroked and pinched and wrenched sounds that were no longer words from his brother’s mouth, he thought he had never felt more powerful. When Dean’s hips bucked and his hands clutched desperately at his hair, Sam was ready.   
“Fuck, fuck, I’m—” and then Dean was spurting into his mouth. He kept his lips sealed around the head while Dean’s cock twitched through his orgasm, swallowing when his mouth filled with come, finally pulling off slowly and gently with one last curl of his tongue, the sensation making Dean shiver again.

Dean’s hands fell to his sides and he just watched as Sam stripped off his own shirt and shorts. Sam straddled Dean again and crawled up his body, tracing his hands over the planes of stomach and chest as he went. When he bent for a kiss, Dean’s hands came up to rest on Sam’s hips. He wondered how well Dean knew the taste of his own come, whether he kissed his women after they went down on him, whether he then wrapped his tongue around their clits and made them sigh his name. The way Dean eagerly licked into his mouth probably answered that question.

“Touch me. Please, Dean.” And Dean did, taking Sam’s cock in his firm, calloused grip. His other hand rubbed along Sam’s thigh and cupped his ass. Sam reveled in the feeling of being spread out over Dean’s chest, almost on display, and in the way Dean stroked him with an intensity that stayed just on the pleasure side of almost-too-much. It was a line he loved to play with and somehow Dean guessed it. He wanted to say something now that his mouth was no longer occupied, but whatever words he had intended died in his throat at the expression on his brother’s face.

“I would die for you,” he said instead, simply. Not the sexiest pillow talk in the history of ever, but Dean did not slow, the hands that Sam had watched clean guns and stitch wounds a hundred thousand times now working him up to a glorious edge.

“Right now I want to see you come for me,” Dean said, licking his lips and digging his fingers into the meat of Sam’s ass and spreading him open.

Sam spilled over that edge, and all over Dean’s chest.  
  
***  
  
Dean woke first on Christmas morning. Sam knew this must be so because his brother shook him awake at what had to be not long past dawn given the weak light suffusing the cabin. He tried to roll over and hide his face under the pillows but Dean poked and prodded him until he grudgingly sat up, rubbed his eyes, and allowed himself to be dragged to the window before he realized he was still naked and it was bitterly cold.

“What in the fuck, Dean,” he managed.

“That in the fuck, Sam,” came the reply, and he finally registered that the pale light in the cabin came not because of a recently risen sun, but because the windows were almost entirely covered in snow. His mouth fell open.

“I know!” Dean crowed. “Here, stand closer, I want to see how much of you would stick out.” Sam stumbled forward and caught himself on the windowsill. The snow outside came up to his chest.

“But they said…how…”

“It’s fine, we still have power somehow, and plenty of food and fuel because you are occasionally a genius and made us shop at an actual store, and my baby is fine because I am always a genius and chose the cabin with a shed. I made bacon. Sit. Eat.”

When Sam had pulled on some clothes, eaten the breakfast Dean laid out, and thrown back some coffee, he was better equipped to absorb the situation. The cabin was half-buried and there was no way to dig themselves out without filling the cabin with snow, so they were stuck until the staff or town personnel rescued them, but everything else seemed to be fine. Great, in fact. Last night before sleep Sam had worried that everything would fall apart in the morning, but his brother was smiling like a five-year-old and kissing him like a lover.

After wolfing down his bacon and eggs, Dean pulled most of the bedding off onto the rug in front of the fireplace and made a sort of nest. On impulse, Sam curled up around him with his head in his lap, and they watched the fire together. There was no logical reason either of them should find the sight pleasant—they had all the wrong memories for nostalgia—but somehow they were both comforted. Dean ran his fingers through Sam’s hair and fondled his ears.

“Gonna put me back to sleep if you keep that up,” Sam mumbled.

“Don’t fall asleep just yet. Get up for a sec.”

Dean rummaged in his bag briefly and returned carrying an oblong, newspaper-wrapped package, which he tossed onto the comforter next to Sam before sitting and wrapping himself in blankets again. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.”

“Wait, wait.” He grabbed his brother’s present out of his own bag and set it down in front of him. “Merry Christmas.” Dean tore off the brown paper wrapping before Sam had even regained his seat and stared at the unveiled object.

“It’s a,” he paused, “waffle maker?” Dean raised his eyebrows at him and was about to continue until Sam reached over and raised the lid.

“Better. It makes tiny pies.” Dean was silent. Sam rushed on. “See, you cut out the pie crusts to fit and lay them in the molds and you can put whatever filling you want in them and then you put more pie crust on top and turn it on and ten minutes later you have pie.”

“Wow. Awesome!”

The smile that bloomed on Dean’s face was huge, and for a moment Sam could see the innocent kid Dean had been before his baby brother came along and changed everything. “I was thinking about you when the snow maiden came to me,” he said after a pause.

Dean tilted his head. “I thought you were thinking about Jess.”

“Yeah, I was. The skating made me think of her because we went together a few times, made me think of our last Christmas together. Then I was imagining what your face would look like when you opened your present.” He hugged his knees to himself and rocked a little. “I was thinking that even if we have to deal with all this crap all the time, I was glad we were in it together.”  


Dean’s smile was tender now, and he took Sam’s hands in his and squeezed them. “You and me against the world, yeah. No matter what.”

Sam ducked his head and focused on opening the other gift. Inside last week’s comics pages was a book about birdwatching.

“I remembered when you were little, you always asked Dad about the birds we saw during all those long hours in the car—what were their names, where were they from, what did their eggs look like—and he never knew a damn thing about any of them except maybe vultures and blue jays.” Dean shrugged. “I thought maybe it would be a good thing for you to know stuff about, you know, normal animals for a change. And I know how much you love research.” He grinned and punched Sam on the arm. “Nerd.”

Sam wanted to glare at the jibe but could not. “Thank you, Dean. I love it.”

“C’mere, you.” Dean caught him around the neck, dragged him to the floor, and rubbed his knuckles into the top of his head. Sam yelped and flailed his arms, trying to get free, but Dean had him locked in.

“Gerroff me!” he shouted and Dean finally let him loose.

That he could glare about, and did. At least, until Dean kissed him and turned his bones to honey.

They had all day. Sam was already plotting his revenge.

**THE END**


	14. Home For Christmas by ilovethemoose: TIED FOR FIRST PLACE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author: ilovethemoose
> 
> Pairing: Sam/Dean
> 
> Rating: NC17
> 
> Note: This story follows the events in 8x09 and contains spoilers for that episode. I also sped up the timeline so that the episode takes place closer to Christmas.

The snow was falling harder. The flakes were being driven now instead of falling soft and slow like they had for most of the drive. The wind blew fiercely, whipping around the Impala making it shake and shimmy on the slick highway. It had started several hours ago and Dean had hoped it would hold off until they made it to Rufus’s cabin. Now as he turned the Impala up the narrow trail that lead to the cabin, it looked like the world lay under an ever shifting mantle of white. Even the trees were wearing their wintry white cloaks.

Dean was really too nervous to notice the beauty of the countryside. He glanced at Sam, passed out in the passenger seat for the last few hours after driving the first half of their journey. He’d woken up only once, rubbing his eyes and looking like a giant 4-year-old. He’d asked where they were and Dean had told him they had about three more hours to go. Sam had nodded and stared out the window, looking but not seeing the scenery rushing by. Dean had wondered what he was thinking about. If he was thinking about Amelia. Then he’d turned and gave Dean a half-hearted smile before rearranging his long form in the seat and falling asleep once again. Now he looked peaceful. Nothing like the man who less than two hours ago had let Dean know just how extremely pissed he was. His little brother had learned at an early age that he just had to turn those soulful eyes of his on Dean and he could get pretty much anything he wanted. Dean had always called them puppy eyes. Sam hadn’t greeted him with soft, pleading eyes this time. He had been like an angry Rottweiler. Or Doberman. All hard edges and sharp words. 

It had taken all of his powers of persuasion to get Sam to come with him. Hell, it taken everything he had just to get Sam to open the motel room door.

Less than a week after Sam had hung up on Dean, he had tracked Sam to the motel where he had holed up. He had taken comfort in the fact that some part of Sam must have wanted to be found because if he hadn’t, Dean would probably still be looking.

Sam had opened the door when Dean knocked, took one look and shut the door in Dean’s face. He had seen Sam’s face go from placidly expectant to grimly dangerous.

He rapped on the door one more time. “Come on, Sam. Open up.”

Dean’s stomach felt like he had swallowed knives. It felt worse than when he had got food poisoning from that taco stand in Arkansas. The look in Sam’s eyes when he’d opened the door and saw it was his brother made Dean’s stomach twist further. It had been filled with….anger, yes, but with something more than that.  _Disappointment._ That’s what he had seen in Sam’s eyes. Christ.

He wished he was psychic so he could figure out what Sam was thinking. 

Whatever it was, he deserved it. He’d really fucked up this time. But good.

“Sam, come on. I just want to talk.” He lowered his voice, glancing around the parking lot. “Let me in, Sam, before someone thinks we’re having a lover’s quarrel or something.”

That was funny really because there was no one, not even another car, in the deserted lot. Dean also wondered at his choice of words. Had Sam noticed? 

He leaned his forehead against the cold steel. “Sam. I feel like an idiot out here.” 

“You are an idiot,” Sam shouted derisively. “I don’t want to talk, Dean. Not now.”

“Five minutes, Sam. Then if you want me to leave, I’ll go.”

Dean held his breath because he might sound nonchalant but his heart was in his throat. What if Sam told him to leave? What would he do then?

Just when Dean was beginning to despair that Sam was just going to leave him standing out in the cold until he froze to the spot(because he wasn’t leaving, goddamnit), the door opened slowly. Sam’s lips were set in a grim line and he didn’t look at Dean, just motioned him in with a sweep of his arm.

Sam shut the door and turned with arms crossed over his chest. “What do you want to say Dean?”

_I miss you. I need you. I love you._

“I’m a dick.”

Sam snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Taking a deep breath, Dean continued. “I’ve been acting like a jerk, Sam. I know that. When I found you after making it out of Purgatory, and you told me you didn’t try to find me,” he paused before choking out, “it hurt. _”_

Sam had been staring at the floor, jaw tense, but when he heard those words his head snapped up to look at Dean. His eyes softened as he took in the naked emotion on his brother’s face. He’d known he’d hurt Dean, he just didn’t expect Dean to lay it out there. That wasn’t his usual style.

Dean plunged on, the words coming faster. “It hurt like hell, Sam. I couldn’t get my head around the fact that you’d just moved on.” He held up his hand as Sam started to protest. “Just let me say this. I know there was more to it and you don’t have to tell me. Not unless you want to. I’m not going to push, Sam, but if you can believe one thing I’ve said since I’ve been back it’s the fact that I realized where I belong. What I’m meant to do.” He took a step toward Sam before continuing. “I belong with you, Sam. By your side. All I could think about in Purgatory was getting back to you.”

Running his fingers through his hair, Sam sat down on the bed, sighing heavily. Looking up at Dean, he opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Dean waited patiently, watching the emotions warring against each other on his brother’s face. Anger, resentment, disappointment. Hurt, confusion, love. He recognized that look because he’d seen it so many times in Sam’s eyes. That naked devotion that Dean craved to see from Sam. That he needed from Sam, because that was what Dean needed to feel right. To feel real. It was fleeting though. Just a whisper of a second before Sam’s eyes hardened again and all that glittered in them was a deep-seated fury. His eyes looked like the ocean on a particularly stormy day. 

“Okay, Dean. Let’s say that’s true. Let’s forget that you’ve defended Benny, aimed a gun at my head, told me that you can’t trust me and that Benny is a better brother to you than I’ve ever been.” Dean flinched as his hurtful words were thrown back in his face. “If I mean so much to you, how could you send that text?” Sam stood and his hands were clenched into fists at his side like he was restraining himself from taking a swing at his brother. He took a step closer to Dean. “Why?” One more step. “WHY?”

“Because I knew it would hurt you, Sammy, that’s why.”

Dean took two steps forward closing the distance between him and Sam. He looked at Sam, almost wishing that Sam would punch him. He had always hated knowing that he had caused his little brother pain. He would have taken a bullet to the heart in a minute if it had meant that he wouldn’t have to see Sam suffering because of him.

 Sam looked taken aback. It was obviously not what he had expected Dean to say. 

 “Sam,” Dean began, then softer, “Sammy. I’m sorry.”

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Sam turned his back like he couldn’t stand to look at Dean. Or didn’t want to.

“You knew what I would think. You knew because of Mom and Jess and Madison and everything,” he faltered before going on, voice shaking. “You knew that I would think that Amelia was being hurt because of me. You knew. And you didn’t care. You just wanted to make sure that I didn’t hurt your precious Benny.” He spat out Benny’s name like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Congrats, Dean. You wanted to hurt me? You wanted me to feel betrayed? Well, mission accomplished.”

Dean looked at the broad expanse of Sam’s back. It still amazed him that his scrawny little brother had turned into this towering beast of a man. He longed to reach out and soothe the tension from Sam’s muscles. To hold him like he’d imagined he would when made it out of Purgatory. Before he’d come back and everything had spun out of control. 

“I’m sorry Sammy,” Dean repeated, “and you’re right. Because of your track record with relationships, I knew exactly what you would think. Part of me wanted you to hurt as bad as I was hurting. I never stopped to think that maybe you already were.”

 Sam turned and sat heavily on the bed, head in his hands. When he spoke, his words were barely audible. “It doesn’t matter Dean.” Sam laughed bitterly and Dean’s heart ached at the sound. “We’ve always known how to hurt each other.”

_We’ve always known how to love each other too, Sammy._

Dean knelt in front of Sam.

“Look, I know I fucked up and I don’t blame you if you want to bust my balls. I deserve it.” Dean took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. “I told you once that you were my weak spot. You still are. But you’re also my strength.” Sam looked up at that and Dean continued on hurriedly, the words spilling forth. “I fought to stay alive so that I could get back to you. The thought of seeing you again, Sam, kept me sane. I told you that I can’t do this without you. I can’t. I don’t want to. The truth is I need you Sammy. More than I could ever tell you.”

He laid a hand on Sam’s knee. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. I want to spend Christmas with my brother, Sam.” 

Sam said nothing. Just continued to look at Dean like he didn’t understand. Dean’s heart fell.

Squeezing Sam’s knee gently, Dean implored, “Sammy….please.”

“Christmas? You want to celebrate Christmas?” Sam looked around the shabby motel room. “Here?”

Letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, Dean grinned. “No. I thought we’d go for some ritzier digs. Rufus’s cabin. We can take a couple of days off. Just you and me. What do you say?”

Sam paused, then nodded his assent.

Dean set about helping him pack up his few belongings. There wasn’t much because he had ran in a stolen car and the clothes on his back. 

“Dean, you look like you’re about to pass out,” Sam protested. “Why don’t we get some sleep and we can leave in the morning?”

“You can drive for a couple of hours and I’ll catch some shut eye. Then I’ll take over.” He didn’t add that he wanted to get Sam in the Impala and on the road before he could change his mind.

He wanted this Christmas to be special. 

Now he just needed Garth to come through.

 ~

Dean pulled the Impala into the yard and cut off the engine. He nudged Sam softly. “Wake up, Sammy. We’re here.” 

Sam had barely opened his eyes before Dean was jumping out of the Impala and on the porch. “Grab the bags!” he yelled back over his shoulder before slamming the door of the cabin behind him.

Shaking his head, Sam climbed out of the car, sighing happily as he was finally able to stretch his legs. The cold air was bracing and he was fully awake much quicker than he would of thought. He’d dreamed of Amelia as he had last seen her, sitting on the couch with her husband. Then it had shifted into Christmas Eve last year. He’d been kissing Amelia softly in front of the little Christmas tree they had bought together. He had opened his eyes and instead of Amelia it had been Dean. 

He could remember the last time he had kissed Dean. It had been the night before he had disappeared, taking Sam’s world with him.

Grabbing the bags out of the back he made his way to the front door of the little cabin. He opened it and his mouth dropped open in surprise.

Dean was standing in the middle of the room with the biggest grin he’d seen on his brother in…well, he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he had seen that smile on Dean’s face.  It almost paled in comparison to the hundreds of twinkling lights that shone in the room.

Almost, but not quite.

Sam shut the door and dropped the bags on the floor. “Dean. What…I mean how did you…” Sam trailed off, for once at a loss for words.

Someone…elves?….had strung garland and little white lights along the fireplace mantel, above the doors and windows. There was a wreath with holly and a huge red bow on the far wall. There were even two red stockings hung side by side from the mantel but the piece de resistance was the towering Christmas tree placed to the left of the fireplace. It was wreathed in white lights and though it was bare of ornaments it was the most beautiful tree Sam had ever seen.

Dean watched Sam take it all in and then his face lit up with a smile. It was open and carefree and, for just a moment, it felt like the weight of the years dropped away.

“Merry Christmas, Sammy!”

“Dean, who did all of this?” Sam laughed delightedly and the sound was music to Dean’s ears.

The vise around Dean’s heart loosened just a little.

“It was Garth.”

Sam raised one eyebrow. “I’m sorry. I thought you said Garth did this.”

“What can I say? I can still turn on the charm when I want.” At Sam’s still skeptical expression he shrugged, “I promised him I would teach him how to hustle pool and get the girl.”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that.” Sam stood looking up at the tree. “I have to give the guy credit. He did a good job.”

Dean huffed, “Well, he did have directions you know. And a shopping list. We’ve got a full fridge too. Christmas dinner, snacks, eggnog, the works.” Dean paused dramatically, “And two kinds of pie. And…..” he reached behind the couch, pulling out two shopping bags, “actual, bona fide Christmas tree decorations.” He set them in front of the tree with a flourish.

He looked at Sam, not really knowing what to expect but what he saw made his heartbeat accelerate, his breath come a little faster. Sam was gazing at him with soft eyes and an expression that made everything he’d had to go through to pull off the surprise worth every penny and every promise.

 Clearing his throat, Dean made a big show of taking the boxes of ornaments out of the bag. “Why don’t you go whip up some of that famous eggnog of yours and we’ll get to decorating.” Dean smiled up at Sam. “See, Sammy. We can do normal. Just you and me, right?”

Sam looked at the floor, the muscles in his jaw tensing.  _Uh oh, did I say something wrong?_  Dean wondered. He had his answer in seconds though, when Sam strode to him and flung his arms around him. He hugged Dean tight, burying his face in Dean’s neck. Dean answered in kind, wrapping his arms around Sam’s body and pressing even closer. They stood like that for a moment, just savoring the feel of the other, enjoying each other’s nearness. And before they separated, Dean could have sworn he felt Sam press his lips in the barest hint of a kiss against his neck.

“I’ll get the eggnog,” Sam said and walked to the fridge, leaving Dean looking at him, confused. Had it been wishful thinking or had Sam kissed him? Dammit, Sam was as hard as ever to figure out.

There was wood and kindling already laid in the fireplace and it took just a touch of match to set the dry wood aflame. Dean turned back to the decorations, not really seeing them. Instead, he saw Sam’s eyes when he’d told him that Benny was more of a brother to him than Sam had been. When he had told Sam that Benny have never betrayed him, the unspoken meaning being that Sam had let him down over and over. Words designed to hurt, to cut Sam to the core. 

Sam’s eyes just now, though, held none of that hurt or disappointment in them. He’d seen nothing but warmth, happiness.

Forgiveness? 

He’d obviously been standing there engrossed in his thoughts longer that he realized, because Sam brought eggnog (Dean sucked in a breath at the first sip, “Damn, Sammy. That’s good.”) and sandwiches he’d made. Dean didn’t realize how hungry he was until he took the first bite of the monstrous ham and cheese sandwich Sam handed him.

They opened up the boxes of colorful ornaments and began placing them on the tree. Sam stood back looking at all the options before carefully choosing and placing his ornaments while Dean placed his wherever his eye landed when he looked up at the tree. When they talked it was about the past. Holidays spent in motel rooms, sometimes with Dad and sometimes just the two of them. Sam kept refilling their glasses and the more they drank, the easier the words flowed.

Finally, they hung the last ornament and stood back to admire their handiwork. 

“Hey, Dean, we don’t have a topper.”

Dean thought for a moment and then snapped his fingers. “I’ll be right back.”

From a spot on the couch, Sam watched in amusement as Dean raced around gathering several items before he sat down in front of the tree. He took a piece of cardboard he’d torn from an old box he’d found in the kitchen and drew a pentagram. Using a penknife he cut it out and then tore off a piece of aluminum foil wrapping it around the design. He held up a perfect silver star for Sam’s inspection. 

“One more thing.” Dean pulled out an oversized paper clip and fixed it to one side then bent it so it could fit over the top of the tree.

He held it out to Sam. “You want to do the honors, Sasquatch?”

Sam grinned and placed the star on top of the tree. 

“Perfect,” they declared together.

Sam poured the last of the eggnog into their glasses and they sat together on the couch surveying their efforts.

Dean took a sip, licking a stray drop from the corner of his mouth. “You know, I’ve made one of those stars before. You probably don’t remember.”

“You did? When?”

“I guess you were three. We were staying in some fleabag because Dad was working a job. We were supposed to go to Bobby’s for Christmas. I remember Bobby gave Dad hell for not bringing us.” Dean smiled fondly, remembering Bobby telling John ‘you’d better give those boys a proper Christmas.’ “Dad brought home this tiny little Christmas tree on Christmas Eve. It had one string of lights and no ornaments so I helped you cut pictures out of magazines and we taped them to the tree. And I made a tinfoil star for the top.” 

“I wish I could remember.” Sam gazed at his brother warmly. “You’ve taken care of me my whole life, Dean, and you’ve always put me first. I couldn’t ask for any more than you’ve given me.” He looked away, but not before Dean saw Sam’s eyes shining a little too brightly.

Dean wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to reach out to Sam, touch him. Smooth away the worry and the hurt. The truth was he was afraid of pushing Sam further away. He’d always been afraid of that very thing so he’d let Sam take the lead most of the time in their relationship. And he was pretty sure that any definition of a normal life didn’t include any type of intimate relationship with his older brother.

So, as was typical, Dean avoided the subject.

“I’m going to hit the shower, dude. I was driving all day yesterday and last night and well, you know.” Wow. That was smooth, Dean thought.

Sam just nodded, eyes still fixed on the foil star atop the tree.

Dean came out of the steamy bathroom toweling his hair. He’d pulled on a clean t-shirt and a pair of old sweats. He dropped the towel and the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks.

Sam had been busy while he’d been showering. He’d built a makeshift bed in front of the fireplace with the bedding and pillows from the little cot. It would be a warm and cozy place to spend the night. The snow had continued to fall and the wind was howling around the cabin but in front of the fireplace it would be perfect.

Not that Dean was cold right now. If the bed in front of the fireplace and its implications wasn’t enough to warm Dean’s blood then the sight of Sam most definitely was.

He’d stripped down to nothing but his jeans, slung low on his hips. He stood in front of the fire, hands braced on the mantle, staring into the flames. He gripped the mantle tightly and every muscle stood out in stark relief. His hair looked like burnished silk and Dean knew exactly how soft it would feel around his fingers. The light played along his body lovingly, highlighting his cheekbones, the hard muscles of his chest and stomach. Dean imagined stroking those long lines, feeling the combination of hard and soft that he had always loved about his brother’s body. Sam looked like a bronze statue carved by one of the old masters.

Dean tried to speak but his mouth was dry. He tried again and he could only utter one word. The word that summed up all that really mattered to him in the world.

“Sammy?” 

Continuing to gaze into the flames, Sam began to speak so softly that Dean had to move closer so that he could understand. “I thought about you every day that you were gone, Dean. Every day. I know I can’t begin to understand what Purgatory was like and I don’t think I can make you understand what it was like to lose you again. To watch you disappear and have no idea where to even begin to look. To not know if you were dead or alive. To know that there was no one, no one, who would care if I was alive or dead.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “All I could think of was fixing the Impala. Because that’s what you would do. You were right, of course, I should have found Kevin. Protected him.”

“Sammy, it’s okay. I understand. You just….”

“It’s not okay,” Sam interrupted. “I should have helped Kevin and I should have looked for you. I just didn’t know where to begin. I didn’t know and I couldn’t think. And then I just decided to drive and I hit that poor dog. And met Amelia.” Sam sighed and laughed shortly. “I know I owe Benny for getting you out of Purgatory. And you owe Amelia, Dean. I’m here because of her.”

Dean didn’t like the sound of that. It sounded like there was a hidden meaning in Sam’s words. Things that Dean didn’t even want to contemplate. “Sam, what do you mean?”

Sam went on as if Dean hadn’t spoken. “Sometimes I would be kissing her or I would be in bed with her and I would close my eyes and pretend it was you. I didn’t feel guilty, though, because I think that sometimes she would close her eyes and pretend I was her husband.”

He finally turned to look at Dean and Dean felt as if all the oxygen had left the room because it was all over Sam’s face. The want, the need, the love…everything was still there as if they hadn’t been separated for a year and all the bitter words between them had never been spoken.

“I will never feel about anyone the way I feel about you, Dean. No one can ever make me feel the way you do. No one will ever take your place. We always will find our way back to each other. Others come and go but, like you said, we’re each other’s weak spot and each other’s strength.”

Sam’s hand went to the buttons of his jeans and then they were sliding to the floor. He wore nothing underneath and Dean gasped at the sight of Sam naked and the visible proof of his need for Dean revealed. They moved toward each other without realizing until they were pressed against each other. Sam’s hands came up to cup Dean’s face lightly, his thumbs sliding along his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, his full bottom lip.

 Leaning in until his lips hovered just above Dean’s, Sam whispered, “Do you still want me, Dean? Tell me.”

“Sammy, I never stopped wanting you.” Whatever else Dean was going to say was forgotten as Sam pressed his lips to his brother’s. It was a tender kiss, almost chaste, and, for a moment, it was enough. Just the touch of Sam’s lips on his, soft and gentle, then Sam pressed his body against Dean’s and the kiss slid into something else. Their lips slanted across each others, mouths devouring the taste and feel they had missed for so long. Sam slid his tongue along Dean’s bottom lip, then licked into his open mouth, exploring and sliding against Dean’s. Sam pressed his hips into Dean and their cocks slid against each other, both achingly hard.  

 

Hooking his fingers in the hem of Dean’s shirt, Sam pulled it over Dean’s head, flinging it away. They shifted against each other, skin on skin, reveling in the feel after going so long without it. They were like addicts who couldn’t get enough. Dean shoved his sweatpants down, kicking them off and then they were on the bed Sam had fixed for them.

Dean pulled back, sitting on his haunches gazing at his little brother’s body. Sam’s lips were swollen from his kisses and his tongue flicked out to lick them. His eyes were lidded and Dean knew that look. He’d thought Sam would never look at him again that way. Sam had never been shy with Dean when they were in bed. He let Dean see everything that was in his heart, everything that he wanted, everything that he needed.

“Dean, please,” he whispered.

“So beautiful, Sammy,” Dean murmured, pressing down into Sam again. They shared long, deep kisses, tongues moving in a slow, languid dance. They were rediscovering each other’s bodies, a hand caressing the soft flesh on the inside of a thigh, a nip to the soft flesh underneath the jaw, soft kisses across the chest ending in a mouth teasing a nipple into hardness. Dean licked a stripe up the long column of Sam’s throat while his hips ground out a rhythm against Sam, their cocks moving against one another with the sweetest friction.

They rolled and Sam lay atop his brother, his hips still rocking against Dean. Sam moaned as Dean threaded his fingers in his hair, pulling Sam’s lips to his again. Working a hand between their bodies, Sam wrapped his long fingers around both their cocks, stroking them together, smearing pre-come across the tips and down the length. Dean continued to thrust against him and the combination had Sam so close. He was trembling with the effort to not come, to wait for Dean. Breaking the kiss, Dean wound his hands in Sam’s hair and groaned, “Sam….Sammy. Gonna come.” And then he was spurting, hot and wet, over Sam’s hand and that was it for Sam. Watching Dean shake and come apart had his own orgasm ripping through him, pumping against Dean and slamming his lips over Dean’s to swallow their cries of pleasure.

When Sam’s senses returned, he was laying with his head on Dean’s heaving chest. He kissed one nipple and then the other, smiling as Dean shivered in response. He grabbed his discarded t-shirt and wiped them clean before rearranging the covers over the both of them.

He lay with his head on Dean’s shoulder, one leg draped across Dean’s thighs and an arm slung across his stomach. Dean’s arms came around him and he rubbed Sam’s arm lightly.

“You okay, Sammy?”

Sam hugged Dean even closer. “Yeah, I am. Merry Christmas, Dean.”

“Merry Christmas, Sammy.”

They lay together, holding one another until Dean felt the change in Sam’s breathing and knew he had drifted off to sleep. He brushed back sweaty strands from Sam’s forehead and kissed him lightly on top of his head. He looked up at the Christmas tree with its twinkling lights and foil star and sighed.

Finally, he was home.


	15. The Wincest Before Christmas  (In the style of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas) by mysticsparrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And a final poem to send you on your way with Christmas Wincest feels.

**The Wincest Before Christmas  (In the style of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas)**

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house

Not a touch pad was stirring, not even a mouse.

The holiday fan fiction was written with care,

(The amulet feels were really unfair.)

The bloggers were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of Wincest danced in their heads.

And so I reblogged just one last screencap,

then settled my brains for an xmas eve nap.

When out on the road there arose such a rumble,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the trouble.

Away to the window I flew like The Flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The light from the streetlamp made everything glow.

and I knew I was dreaming, it had to be so

when what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a shiny black Impala and the Winchesters stood near!

When Dean dropped to his knees in a movement so quick,

I knew in a moment he’d be sucking Sam’s dick.

With a moan and and a curse the younger brother soon came,

While Dean grunted, and growled, and called his Sammy by name!

“Oh fuck me! Oh fuck me! Dean, please, please don’t you stop”

“Take it baby boy! And If you’re good, I might let you top!”

They fucked on the the hood and in the backseat of the car

and they shook and they shuddered as I watched from afar 

Two brothers in love, on one life long road trip.

Their bittersweet adventure just one epic courtship 

Across state lines, all their lives, the brothers they flew,

With a trunk full of weapons (and a dream catcher too.)

And then with an inkling, when the lights they did flicker 

 _Should I get the Salt?_  I thought with a snicker.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Through the door Sam and Dean came with a bound.

Sam was dressed all in plaid, and tall as Bigfoot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with blood and with soot.

A duffel of weapons he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a badass when he opened his pack.

His eyes: how they twinkled! his dimples: how merry!

He was so much more handsome than he was on the telly!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the hair on his head it really did flow 

When the monster appeared he had sharp yellow teeth

And smoke encircled his head like a demonic wreath.

Dean rushed in with his stubbly face and jacket made out of leather

that cracked when he hoisted the ax, as if ‘twas light as a feather

He was taller in person and knocked over my shelf

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!

But a wink of Dean’s eye and a twist of Sam’s head,

Soon gave me to know that I had nothing to dread.

To me they spoke not a word but went straight to their work,

“Bitch,” I heard Dean say, after Sam called him a jerk.

Then aiming the the ax Dean dealt the deathblow,

and still covered in blood, kissed Sam ‘neath the mistletoe!

They sprang to the car, to his baby, Dean gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like a rocket launched missle

I heard Dean exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,

“Merry Christmas Sammy, that was sure a fun night!”


End file.
